V 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


i 


p 


MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS 


OF    THE    LATE 


SAMUEL    J.   SMITH, 
*»  t 


OP  BURLINGTON,  N.   J. 


Collected  antJ  &*ranjjen  fcg   ©ne  of  tfie  JMmtlj. 


WITH  A  NOTICE  ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER, 


1  Not  a  beauty  blows, 
And  not  an  op'ning  blossom  breathes,  in  vain." 


PHILADELPHIA  1 

HENRY    PERKINS,    134    CHESTNUT    STREET, 

BOSTON  : 
PERKINS  &  MARVIN,  114  WASHINGTON  STREET. 

1836. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


ENTERED,  according  to  the  act  of  congress,  in  the  year  1836,  by  HENRY 
PERKINS,  in  the  clerk's  office  of  the  district  court  for  the  eastern  district 
of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


Biographical  Sketch, 

An  Indian  Eclogue,     . 

The  Bachelor,        .  '  -      29'  31 

Stanzas, 

Hymn,        . 

On  Dress— To  the  Ladies,'      .  fa 

A  Love  Letter, 

To  the  Memory  of  Win.  Livingston,  LL.  D., 

On  seeing  a  Wren  in  the  midst  of  Winter,  *n 

The  Case  of  Amanda,  .  ct    «   ,A      '  -7  * 

The  Twenty-Fiflh  Psalm,  51.53,54.56,57.59 

The  Genius  of  *  *  *  *  To 

To , 

To  the  Wife  of- L, 

An  Elegy, 

o«7  '  •  •  ,  t  *»f* 

Eulogium  on  Rum,      . 

The  Bee, 

Margery  Gray, 

Courtship,  .  . 

A  Morning  Hymn,     ... 

Some  Account  of  My  Neighbour  Ephraim, 

For  an  Album,  ...  " 

Peter's  Ride  to  the  Wedding, 

Reflections,      . 

Stanzas,     . 

To  A,  B,  C,  &  CO. 

To  a  Toad  in  a  Strawberry  Bed, 

To  my  Trees,  .  .        v    .  / 

Scraps  from  my  Port  Folio,  '     . 

Lines,  written  in  the  Album  of  a  Young  Friend,'  m 

On  a  Picture  of  a  Child  falling  from  a  Boat  into  the  Water,'  174 

Another  Illustration  of  the  same  Subject,       .  .  m 

For  a  Winter  Scene  on  a  Farm, 

1/6 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

For  an  Autumnal  Scene,        ..          .            .'           .'        •->.-..     •>    «  177 

For  a  Ship  under  full  sail,             ^":            .             .    ,      ./.*             .  j  .       178 

On  reading  Wordsworth's  "  Excursion,"        .             .             »             «  180 

Scraps;  or,  a  Page  from  my  Port  Folio,                .             .            *"  ,-  .       187 

For  an  Album,       -'  „             .             .            '.,          .             .          '\  190 

Woman,     .                          .            .             .     ,                     .             .  .191 

Lines,  written  extempore,  for  a  Child  who  asked  for  an  "  Epitaph  oil 

her  Squirrel,"             .            .            .        "    ,          \            .  .192 

Stanzas,           .             .             .  v    p^.j£    "»             •                          •  193 

For  an  Album,       .             .             .             .            .             .             .  .       195 

My  Spectacles,         ' -.             .        %ij.           .             ,             .             .  197 

Written  in  an  Album,       .             .             .             .             .             .  .       203 

Paraphrase  of  Luke  x.  42,       .             .             .             .             .             .  205 

To  J.  and  H.  C.  B ,             .            .            .        .    .            &  .      206 

Paraphrase  of  Psalm  xxxi.  2,  3— Isaiah  xxxii.  2 — Rev.  xviii.  10,       .  208 

Flowers,    .            .            .            .            .            .            .            .  .      210 

Locomotives,               .            »            .            .            ,            .            .  213 

Scraps  from  my  Port  Folio,           >             .             .             .    •      '  „  .216 
Fragment,       .             .             .             .             ....          "-:."  r-         219 

Lines,  suggested  by  a  recent  visit  to  "  Hickory  Grove,"              .  .       221 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


When  those  who  have  been  distinguished  for  their  in 
tegrity,  and  whom  Providence  has  blessed  with  superior 
talents,  are  removed  to  another  state  of  existence,  the  fruits 
of  those  talents,  and  the  example  of  that  integrity,  in  some 
cases,  become  properly  the  portion  of  their  fellow  beings  : 
and  in  the  hope  that  an  humble  sketch  of  the  character 
of  one  who  did  "  good  by  stealth,"  and  sought  not  the 
voice  of  fame,  may  not  be  unacceptable,  the  following 
brief  memoir  is,  with  diffidence,  presented  to  the  public. 

The  late  SAMUEL  J.  SMITH  was  descended  from  a  family 
living  in  Yorkshire,  England,  in  1593,  some  of  whom 
emigrated  to  this  country,  and  were  among  the  early 
settlers  in  New  Jersey.  For  several  generations  they  were 
employed  in  civil  offices  during  the  colonial  government, 
though,  as  members  of  the  religious  society  of  Friends, 
their  principles  forbade  their  taking  an  active  part  in  the 
conflict  which  severed  these  States  from  their  parent  stem. 
His  grandfather,  Samuel  Smith,  the  author  of  the  "  History 
of  New  Jersey,  written  in  1765,  (the  only  standard  history 
of  that  state,)  filled  the  office  of  treasurer  while  it  was  a 
2 


10 

province,  under  George  III. ;  and  subsequently,  he  and  his 
two  sons  were  usefully  engaged  as  able  members  in  the 
legislative  councils  of  the  state.  Joseph,  the  elder,  was 
early  married  to  a  daughter  of  Samuel  Burling,  an  amiable 
woman,  of  acute  understanding  and  pleasing  manners ;  and 
settling  on  a  farm  about  nine  miles  from  the  city  of  Burling 
ton  in  New  Jersey,  their  son  Samuel,  the  subject  of  the 
present  memoir,  was  there  born,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year 
1771.  His  mother  was  taken  from  him  by  death  when  he 
was  scarcely  two  years  old,  and  leaving  no  other  child  to 
share  with  him  the  affection  of  his  father,  he  became  the 
absorbing  object  of  his  doting  fondness.  Although  a  man 
of  strong  and  cultivated  mind,  and  so  distinguished  for  the 
soundness  of  his  judgment  as  to  be  frequently  resorted  to 
by  strangers  for  counsel  and  direction,  yet  he  suffered  pater 
nal  affection  so  far  to  predominate,  as  almost  to  unnerve 
his  hand  and  disqualify  him  for  the  exercise  of  wholesome 
discipline  in  early  childhood,  even  when  a  looker-on  might 
perhaps  have  deemed  the  occasion  an  imperative  call  for  it. 
The  darling,  almost  the  idol,  of  the  family,  not  only  from 
his  father  but  from  every  individual  of  it  he  found  unbound 
ed  indulgence  in  his  childish  whims.  From  his  earliest 
years  he  loved  retirement ;  and,  resisting  every  effort  to 
bring  him  into  company,  this  love  acquired  strength  and 
grew  with  his  growth,  till  habit  had  confirmed  a  predilec 
tion  which,  perhaps,  a  different  education  might  have 
overcome.  Even  at  this  early  period  he  gave  evidence  of 
more  than  common  quickness  of  perception,  firmness  of 
purpose,  and  promptitude  of  action ;  together  with  a 
strong  will,  which,  as  might  be  supposed,  was  under 


, 
11 

but  little  restraint.  While  thus,  in  the  morning  of  life, 
wearing  the  reins  almost  upon  his  own  neck,  the  preserv 
ing  hand  of  Providence  conducted  him  through  its  perils 
in  safety.  When  it  was  judged  proper  to  send  him  to 
school,,  and  he  had  been  brought  by  arguments,  persuasions 
and  bribes,  to  the  point  of  passive  submission;  his  grand 
father  at  length,  as  he  flattered  himself,  deposited  him 
safely  there,  and,  well  pleased  with  the  achievement,  had 
hardly  returned,  when  he  found  the  young  pupil  had 
escaped;  and  as  he  has  himself  said  in  his  "Address  to 
A,  B,  C  &  Co."  he  was  indeed — "  at  home  as  soon  as  he 
was  !"  Nor  were  their  subsequent  endeavours  to  give  him 
the  rudiments  of  education,  by  the  common  course  of  pub 
lic  or  private  instruction,  attended  with  much  better  success. 
As  well  might  they  have  attempted  to  lure  the  young 
partridge  from  his  fields,  and  teach  him  the  sober  habits  of 
domestic  fowls,  as  to  confine  this  untamed  spirit  within  the 
walls  of  a  school-room,  to  initiate  him  in  the  dull  routine 
of  commonplace  study  there.  With  a  natural  diffidence, 
approaching  to  shyness  and  reserve,  the  company  of  boys 
of  his  own  age  offered  no  attraction ;  and,  accustomed 
to  depend  upon  himself  for  amusement,  while  rambling 
at  large  on  his  father's  farm,  the  vast  field  of  nature 
was  his  school,  and  the  God  of  nature  became  his  effec 
tual  teacher,  in  shedding  the  rich  dew  of  his  grace  on 
his  young  heart,  and  directing  its  early  aspirations  to 
Himself. 

Though  he  was  regularly  entered,  the  whole  time  passed 
at  public  school,  at  intervals,   amounted   but  to  a  few 


12 


months.  Yet,  while  his  father  yielded  to  this  aversion, 
rather  than  compel  his  attendance,  the  principles  of  mo 
rality  and  religion  were  implanted  in  his  mind  with  assi 
duous  care,  which  taking  deep  root,  with  the  Divine  bless 
ing  produced  an  abundant  harvest. 

v*>  •    "'  -.;-'• 

His  father  had  formed  a  second  connexion  in  marriage, 
with  a  sensible  and  amiable  woman,  (a  sister  of  the  late 
well-known  and  respected  Dr.  Thomas  C.  James,  of  Phila 
delphia.)  But  this  produced  no  change  in  the  family 
management  with  respect  to  the  young  poet.  The  gentle, 
yielding  temper  of  his  stepmother  required  of  him  no 
sacrifice  of  his  inclination,  and  they  had  no  other  child  to 
divide  with  him  their  tenderness.  Thougli  living  thus  in 
the  retirement  of  the  country,  without  any  companion  of  his 
own  age,  yet  a  consciousness  of  deficiency  soon  awakened 
a  spirit  of  emulation,  which  acted  as  a  sufficient  stimulus; 
and,  with  a  determined  will  to  instruct  himself,  and  little 
aid  from  any  teacher,  he  acquired,  at  a  much  earlier  age 
than  usual,  the  elementary  parts  of  a  good  education ;  and 
by  application  soon  surmounted  every  difficulty  in  the  first 
steps  to  the  fair  fields  of  intellectual  cultivation.  A  taste  for 
literature  once  acquired,  it  was  pursued  with  eager  delight ; 
his  powerful  mind  took  in,  almost  at  a  glance,  the  subject 
presented  to  it,  and  soon  penetrated  through  all  its  intricacies. 
With  the  advantage  also  of  a  strong  memory,  he  retained 
so  perfect  a  knowledge  of  what  he  had  once  read,  as  rarely 
to  give  it  a  second  perusal.  Possessing  a  good  library,  and 
seizing  with  avidity  on  every  book  within  his  reach,  the 
flowers  that  grew  in  the  regions  of  imagination  and  poetry 


13 


were  congenial  to  his  taste,  in  his  juvenile  years.  In  later 
life  he  used  to  remark,  that  the  works  of  fiction  which  at 
the  former  period  passed  current  were,  with  few  exceptions, 
trash  beneath  contempt.  His  mind  a  luxuriant  soil,  in  which 
sprang  up  spontaneously  the  richest  flowers  of  fancy  and  of 
feeling,  he  loved  to  "converse  with  his  own  thoughts."  Ac 
customed  to  think  for  himself,  when  he  believed  it  right  to 
pursue  any  object,  prompt  and  energetic  exertion  was  the 
immediate  result  of  such  conviction.  He  had  believed  that 
a  child,  by  being  conversant  with  the  best  authors,  might 
attain  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  grammar  to  speak  and 
write  correctly  without  submitting  to  the  drudgery  of  a 
regular  study  of  its  rules ;  and,  however  erroneous  this 
conclusion  might  be  in  general  practice,  he  verified  its 
truth  in  his  own  example,  for  his  writing  and  conversation 
combined  accuracy,  strength,  and  gracefulness. 

The  following  passages  from  some  of  his  early  letters  to 
the  late  Thomas  C.  James,  M.  D.,  of  Philadelphia,  (which 
were  kindly  furnished  by  the  family  of  the  latter,)  may 
serve  as  a  specimen  of  his  style  at  that  time.  Similarity  of 
taste,  as  well  as  family  connexion,  had  united  them  in 
close  bonds  of  friendship;  and  he  afterwards  expressed  a 
grateful  sense  of  the  kindness  of  the  doctor,  who  was  by 
several  years  his  senior,  in  bestowing  so  much  time  and 
pains  in  cultivating  a  correspondence  with  him  in  his  early 
youth. 


14 

"  Burlington,  Nov.  28th,  1784. 


"  My  Dear  Friend, 


"  I  congratulate  thee  on  thy  new  profession,       * 

*  *  *  *  ;  but  perhaps  I,  immured 

in  the  regions  of  solitude,  cannot  discern  those  graces  in 
physic,  which  to  the  more  refined  eye  of  a  polished  citizen 
are  perfectly  visible.  I  must  beg  a  moment  which  is  not 
employed  at  Doctor's  Hall,  for  the  perusal  of  the  following 

journal  of  a  day. 

*  *  *  *  #  *  * 

"  If  thou  hast  any  entertaining  book  at  hand,  by  sending 
it  thou  wilt  very  much  oblige  thine  affectionately, 

"SAM'L  J.  SMITH. 
"  P.S. — Pray  send  me  a  Latin  grammar." 


1785. 


"I  hope  to  find  a  good  deal  of  amusement  in  the 

perusal  of  the  pamphlet,  as  I  have  plenty  of  leisure  minutes, 
but  they  are  by  no  means  dull,  for  I  am  of  a  cast  of  those 
who  can  relish  an  entertaining  book  as  much  in  private,  as 
others  do  the  noise  and  bustle  of  city  life. 


'  Of  ancient  writ,  unlock  the  learned  store, 
Consult  the  dead,  and  live  past  ages  o'er.' 

"Thou  need  not  be  so  very  cautious,  for  I  turned 

critic  merely  for  want  of  something  better  to  write  upon, 
and  I  hope  thou  wilt  not  apply  to  me — 


15 


'  Some  have  at  first  for  wits,  then  poets  pass'd, 
Turned  critics  next,  and  proved  plain  fools  at  last..' " 

"  Hickory  Grove,  Sept.  5th,  1785. 

******* 

"  These  groves  first  saw  me  try  my  tender  wing, 
They  saw  me,  trembling,  strike  the  tuneful  string ; 
Plain  artless  nature  taught  my  lines  to  flow, 
Unknown  to  beauty,  as  devoid  of  show ; 
Be  not  surprised,  then,  at  this  want  of  art, 
The  genuine  dictates  of  the  simplest  heart. 

"  These  shades  could  ever  yield  some  joy  to  me, 
But  doubly  pleasing,  since  approved  by  thee ; 
For  now  new  music  sounds  in  all  our  groves, 
New  charms  disclosing,  for  my  friend  approves. 
Oft  have  I  sat  beneath  the  cooling  shade, 
And  fondly  waited  inspiration's  aid ; 
Or  racked  my  hard-bound,  dull,  and  barren  brains, 
With  imitating  thy  melodious  strains, 
In  vain :  alas  !  I  find  no  muses  there, 
And  emulation 's  darkened  by  despair. 
Perhaps  e'en  now  thy  vigorous  fancy  roves 
Through  the  bright  mazes  of  Parnassian  groves ; 
While  I,  dark  groping  o'er  a  humbler  hill, 
Admire  the  murmurs  of  yon  winding  rill ; 
Or  sauntering  idly  up  the  shady  road, 
(The  path  my  friend  so  oft  with  pleasure  trod, 
While  Phoebus  setting  glanced  along  the  green,) 
Enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  evening  scene, 


16 


And  as  the  landscape  charms,  my  artless  tongue 
Breaks  out  in  ends  of  verse  and  scraps  of  song. 

"  O  sacred  Nature !  undefiled  by  art, 
What  heavenly  feelings  can  thy  charms  impart : 
Let  new-spun  coxcombs  daily  come  from  France, 
Let  grey-haired  matrons  learn  to  play  and  dance — 
Here  let  me  live,  till  Death's  stern  sovereign  call, 
Alike  unenvied,  and  unenvying  all ; 
And  as  my  pleasures,  passions,  all  give  way, 
Sink  to  the  grave  by  un perceived  decay : 
There  unregretted,  undistinguished,  rot, 
*  The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot.' " 

"  Hickory  Grove,  '86. 

"  I  think  it  is  not  unamusing  to  peruse  the  different 

apologies  of  authors  upon  appearing  in  print.  Shenstone, 
if  I  remember  right,  ridicules  every  mode,  and  still  leaves 
the  matter  in  the  dark — Johnson  says  a  friendly  letter  is  a 
cool  and  deliberate  performance,  composed  in  the  stillness 
of  solitude  and  retirement.  But  the  truth  (in  my  humble 
opinion  at  least)  is,  that  those  in  retirement  are  apt  to 
resign  themselves  up  to  a  habit  of  indolence,  especially 
with  regard  to  writing.  The  speaking  of  retirement  recalls 
to  my  remembrance  a  curious  story  recorded  in  Bacon's 
collection  of  Apophthegms  : — An  old  rat,  being  dissatisfied 
with  the  world,  retired  into  his  hole,  and  forbade,  upon  the 
severest  penalties,  any  one  to  approach  him ;  at  length 
one,  more  bold  than  the  rest,  ventured  down,  and  found 
the  old  gentleman  sitting  very  contentedly  in  the  midst  of 
a  rich  Parmesan  cheese." 


17 


"  '  The  brittle  forest  clad  in  silver  frost, 
Its  beauty  withered  and  its  verdure  lost,' 
Can  preach  more  strongly  to  the  pensive  eye, 

Than  long  dull  volumes  on  morality." 

****** 

"  A  rival's  fame  to  those  who  write, 
Ne'er  fails  to  bring  a  hippish  sprite, 
Whether  they  waste  their  precious  time 
In  scribbling  sleepy  prose  or  rhyme. 
For  sooner  shall  a  lawyer  shun  sense, 
And  lose  a  fee,  for  sake  of  conscience  ; 
Sooner  the  healing  tribe  regret 
A  sickly  season  damp  and  wet, 
Than  he  who  toils  for  crown  of  bays 

With  pleasure  hear  another's  praise." 

****** 

"As  to  poor  Pegasus,  I  had  almost  forgot  that  there 
was  such  a  horse  ;  however  I  am  much  obliged  to  thee  for 
mentioning  him,  and  thereby  putting  me  in  mind  of  a 
request  I  formerly  made  that  thou  would  take  the  trouble 
to  burn  every  scrawl  of  poetry  bearing  my  name,  in  thy 
possession;  by  doing  which  thou  wilt  greatly  and  truly 
oblige  me.  For  I  am  determined  that  before  Pegasus  gets 
a  new  coat,  his  old  one  shall  be  destroyed,  at  least  to  the 
utmost  of  my  power.  *  *  *  « 

"  All  the  common  topics  proper  for  an  epistle  have  been 

so  often  discussed,  that  they  are  as  difficult  to  manage  as 

Robinson  Crusoe's  long  boat.  This  scrawl  was  not  produced 

(believe  me)  without  labour  both  of  mind  and  body.     Now 

3 


18 

confess  I  am  honest,  I  might  as  easily  have  said  <I 
snatched  a  leisure  moment,  &c.  &c.  &c.'  and  as  an  excuse 
for  so  doing,  plead  the  example  of  divers  eminent  persons  ; 
yea,  even  the  makers  of  verses  in  this  our  day  endeavour 
and  labour  exceedingly  to  convince  the  reader  that  they 

write  for  their  amusement,  alias  satisfaction,  only." 
******* 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  the  tinder  placed  by  nature  in  a 
poet's  mind  is  wholly  erased  from  that  of  my  friend.  But 
why  put  off  writing  till  nature  puts  on  her  smiling  robe  ? 
I  cannot  conceive  that  one  is  more  able  to  write  at  one 
time  than  at  another.  Inclination  may  certainly  be  greater 
at  some  times  than  at  others,  and  I  should  imagine  it  to  be 
greater  in  the  winter  than  at  other  seasons.  In  the  winter 
there  are  few  outward  objects  pleasing  enough  to  attract 
attention ;  the  mind  retires  inward,  and  is  pleased  with 
recollections,  reflection,  and  description. 

"  I  am  entirely  of  thy  opinion  with  respect  to  the  pur 
poses  to  which  poetry  should  properly  be  applied.  It  may 
promote  the  interest  of  morality  and  virtue,  and  be  made 
subservient  to  religion  and  the  happiness  of  mankind ;  and 
we  have  only  to  regret  that  it  has  not  oftener  been  directed 
to  such  noble  purposes.  Young  and  Watts  have  indeed 
succeeded  in  sacred  poetry,  but  their  example  will  not 
warrant  or  excuse  the  attempts  of  others.  Truths  so 
sublime  are  rather  degraded  than  exalted  by  the  poetical 
garb." 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

"Prose    composition    is    certainly  more    useful   than 
poetry,  but  poetry  is  not  only  more  pleasing  to  the  reader 


19 


(if  it  is  good)  but  more  easy  to  the  writer,  at  least  I  think 
so.  As  to  Dr.  Franklin's  opinion  of  poetry,  not  all  the 
Franklins  'twixt  this  and  Lilliput  can  make  me  alter  my 
opinion.  The  doctor  may  be  a  great  philosopher  and 
politician,  but  (with  submission)  I  conceive  he  is  not  a 
judge  of  poetry. 

"  My  mother  has   written  to-day,  and  I  suppose  told 

you  the  old  story,  that  we  are  all  well,  the  cow  excepted 

formerly  mentioned,  who  seems  to  be,  I  don't  know  how ; 

but  it  is  pretty  plain  she  wants  the  doctor  here,  and  so  do  I. 

"  Thine  sincerely,  S.  J.  S." 

"Hickory  Grove, '87. 
"  My  Dear  Friend, 

******* 

"  This  letter  is  like  a  rag  carpet,  made  up  one  scarcely 
knows  of  what — there  is  a  simile  !  which  if  I  had  time  and 
genius,  and  a  good  pen  and  darker  ink,  I  could  enlarge 
upon,  and  by  much  handling,  and  traveling  about  it  and 
about  it,  would  make  it  as  smooth  and  shining  as  that 
dog's  black  ear,  that's  sleeping  on  the  floor : 

{ In  works  of  wit,  the  critics  all  agree 

That  nothing  tickles  like  a  simile.'  " 

*  *  «  *  *  *  * 

'87. 

"  It  is  my  solid  opinion  that  J.  T.  &c.  would  recruit 
much  sooner  if  they  were  here,  where  they  might  smell 
the  wounded  bosom  of  mother  earth,  commonly  called 
ploughed  ground ;  at  least  they  would  do  better  any  where 
than  in  that  dismal  hive  of  doleful  beings,  yclept  a  city. 
"  Thine  sincerely,  SAMUEL  J.  SMITH." 


His  father  had  removed  to  reside  upon  his  patrimonial 
estate.  Hickory  Grove,  a  mile  from  the  city  of  Burlington, 
in  New  Jersey,  when  his  son  was  not  more  than  four  years 
of  age.  He  had  grown  up  in  its  shades,  and  had  ample 
scope  for  the  pursuit  of  his  favourite  employments.  He 
was  not  only  an  excellent  theoretic,  but  a  good  practical 
farmer :  cultivating  his  ground  with  judicious  care,  and 
watching  over  his  horses,  his  cattle,  his  flocks  of  poultry, 
and  every  living  animal  within  his  jurisdiction,  with  a 
humane  and  tender  attention  to  their  accommodation  and 
pleasure,  which  often  led  him  to  sacrifice  his  own  ;  with, 
perhaps,  an  over  solicitude  that  they  should  not  be  sub 
jected  to  hard  usage,  and  that  nothing  might  be  omitted 
which  could  promote  their  comfort.  Delighting  in  his  agri 
cultural  avocations,  as  affording  the  best  field  for  tracing 
the  hand  of  a  beneficent  Creator  in  his  vegetable  and  ani 
mal  kingdoms ;  and  possessing  a  fortune  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  furnish  employment,  and  the  means  of  living,  to 
many  of  the  poor  in  his  neighbourhood,  he  dispensed  the 
blessing  with  a  liberality  equalled  only  by  the  delicacy 
with  which  he  bestowed  his  bounty.  For  this  noble  kind 
of  generosity,  which  retires  from  observation,  he  was 
remarkable.  His  munificent  acts  were  of  so  frequent  recur 
rence,  that  on  the  writer  asking  his  housekeeper  to  relate 
some  instances  of  them,  she  answered,  "  they  could  not 
be  mentioned — they  were  continual." 

'?.    '"  *-T'--          .-',.••    3       •;'<".•••  A      '(••    :  '  '*'    ' 

In  tracing  the  history  of  an  individual  whose  writings 
have  interested  us,  we  naturally  wish  to  know  something 
of  the  form  in  which  this  mind  was  clothed. 


«*•-  21 

In  person  he  was  of  the  common  size ;  with  a  peculiar 
expression  of  sweetness  and  benevolence,  his  whole  coun 
tenance  was  enlightened  by  a  look  of  animated  intelligence, 
which  varied  with  every  changing  emotion,  and  could 
scarcely  fail  to  attract  the  attention  of  a  stranger,  as 
belonging  to  no  common  character.  While  dwelling  in 
the  seclusion  of  his  beloved  Hickory  Grove,  his  mind, 
with  a  rapidity  which  always  marked  its  movements, 
embraced  every  subject  of  general  interest,  whether  literary, 
moral,  civil  or  political.  His  vicinity  to  Burlington,  and 
easy  communication  with  Philadelphia,  furnished  him 
with  the  opportunity  of  readily  obtaining  supplies  of  books, 
and  receiving  nearly  all  the  best  periodical  publications; 
the  din  of  men  was  thus  heard  in  his  retreat,  and  he 
possessed  a  general  knowledge  of  what  was  passing  in 
the  world  around  him — a  world  which  he  had  shut  out, 
though  with  a  heart  glowing  with  the  warmest  feelings  of 
genuine  philanthropy  towards  the  whole  human  family,  and 
desirous  of  contributing  to  their  comfort  in  any  way,  ex 
cept  by  giving  them  his  society.  And  yet  those  who  would 
dispense  with  the  ceremony  of  a  formal  or  particular  in 
vitation,  and  the  return  which  custom  requires,  and  would 
take  the  trouble  to  make  him  a  voluntary  visit,  ever  found 
a  kind  reception,  were  hospitably  entertained,  and  were 
well  repaid  by  the  rich  variety  of  his  conversation  ;  occa 
sionally  sparkling  with  wit,  and  full  of  playful  humour, 
peculiarly  his  own  ;  or  sanctified  by  pious  feeling,  and 
meditation  on  sacred  things.  His  well  stored  memory 
abounded  in  anecdotes,  with  which  he  frequently  illus 
trated  his  subjects,  and  which  lost  nothing  of  their  point 


22 

and  spirit  by  his  manner  of  relating  them.  A  few  times 
in  early  life,  he  broke  through  his  habits  of  retirement  to 
go  on  short  excursions  from  home.  Once  with  two  friends, 
the  journey  even  extended  into  a  few  neighbouring  states ; 
and  in  that  one  visit  he  observed  and  learned  more  than 
many  travellers,  who  have  wandered  over  a  much  greater 
extent  of  country,  with  their  eyes  not  so  widely  open  to 
profit  by  every  object  they  encounter.  Returning  his 
father's  love  with  the  warmest  affection  and  duty  of  a  son, 
his  attachments  centred  in  his  own  family ;  and  though 
his  "  Elegy  written  in  a  Burial  Ground,"  might  lead  to  the 
belief  that  some  one  had  awakened  a  more  tender  regard, 
yet  he  never  married  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  no  stronger 
sentiment  than  a  high  estimation  and  respect  for  female 
worth,  ever  found  an  entrance  to  his  heart.  While  thus 
pursuing  the  strong  bent  of  his  taste,  and  contemplating 
the  hand  of  Providence  in  his  works,  few  have  ever  listen 
ed  to  the  "  tongues  in  trees,"  or  studied  the  "  books  in  the 
running  brooks"  with  more  heart-felt  attention  and  profit. 
In  addition  to  agricultural  knowledge,  he  possessed  no 
small  degree  of  mechanical  genius,  which  was  often  in  re 
quisition  for  the  supply  and  repair  of  machinery  on  the 
farm.  Although  in  this  he  was  self-taught,  yet  he  could,  it 
was  thought,  had  necessity  demanded  it,  have  earned  a 
subsistence,  as  an  artisan,  by  several  distinct  mechanical 
employments.  Some  of  his  cabinet  work,  for  his  young 
relatives,  for  ingenuity  and  finished  neatness,  could  hardly 
have  been  excelled  by  those  regularly  trained  to  the  art. 
An  amiable  trait  of  character  was  manifested,  not  only  in 
taking  this  pains  for  the  gratification  of  children,  but  when 


23 


in  the  company  of  young  persons,  he  encouraged  them  to 
exert  their  talents,  repeating  the  recommendation  to  "  aim 
always  at  the  eagle,  if  they  only  brought  down  a  sparrow ;" 
and  by  kind  notice  and  respectful  attention  to  their  opinions, 
he  called  their  intellectual  powers  into  exercise,  and  it 
usually  had  the  effect  of  increasing  the  confidence  of  the 
timid,  and  adding  to  the  good  humour  and  spirit  of  con 
versation. 

]  oc/J     '  /  '?•  i. 

With  an  utter  abhorrence  of  idleness,  few  have  led  a 
more  uniformly  active  and  industrious  life,  or  have  been 
more  constantly  engaged  in  useful  employment,  when  not 
for  himself,  for  the  benefit  of  others.  It  was  his  invariable 
custom  to  rise  at  four  o'clock,  or  not  later  in  summer,  and 
at  five  in  winter,  and  begin  the  day  in  religious  retirement 
and  meditation,  and  reading  a  portion  of  the  sacred  vo 
lume  ;  for  which  he  entertained  a  high  value,  earnestly 
endeavouring  to  form  his  life  by  its  divine  precepts.  His 
mind  thus  imbued  with  religious  feeling,  cheerful,  and 
attuned  to  harmony  with  the  objects  in  creation,  he  liked 
not  to  hear  in  a  tone  of  complaint  the  world  called  a  "  de 
sert" — "  dreary" — "  comfortless" — "  a  vale  of  tears,"  think 
ing  such  terms  savoured  of  ingratitude  ;  a  world  which  is 
in  truth,  as  he  sometimes  said,  "  bright  and  beautiful,  too 
good  for  man,  whose  follies  and  vices  alone  make  it  other 
wise."  His  love  for  the  Creator  extended  to  his  humblest 
creatures.  The  birds  around  the  house  were  carefully 
protected ;  little  comfortable  dwellings  for  them,  the  work 
of  his  hands,  placed  in  the  corners  of  the  piazza  and  on 
the  trees,  were  regularly  tenanted,  while  the  squirrels, 


24 


almost  tame,  leaped  fearlessly  among  the  branches;  and 
few  persons  have  taken  more  pains  to  "  step  aside  and  let 
the  reptile  live,"  than  he  to  avoid  destroying  the  insects 
in^his  path.  Even  the  very  rose  bugs  that  were  re 
galing  upon  the  grape  vines  which  he  had  carefully 
reared,  he  would  brush  off,  rather  than  destroy,  merely 
answering,  once  when  this  was  remarked,  "  it  would 
take  many  of  us  to  make  a  rose  bug  !"  and  not  until  the 
tribe  became  too  numerous  to  be  longer  tolerated,  did 
they  receive  at  his  hand  the  common  doom.  The  so 
ciety  of  his  beloved  and  honoured  father  was  continued 
to  him  for  many  years.  The  fondest  wish  of  a  parent's 
heart  had  been  gratified  in  the  character  of  his  son,  who 
watched  his  declining  health  with  the  most  tender  and 
unremitting  attention,  until  deprived  by  death  of  this 
intelligent  friend  and  counsellor.  Although  his  loss 
was  keenly  felt,  comparable,  as  he  once  expressed  it,  to 
"  losing  a  right  arm,"  his  step-mother  was  preserved  to 
him  some  years  longer ;  and  he  lived  in  the  enjoyment 
of  affectionate  family  intercourse  with  a  few  near  re 
latives,  who  resided  at  a  short  distance.  Yet,  notwith 
standing  this,  many  hours  in  his  own  habitation  were 
passed  alone,  and  persons  in  general  \vould  have  deemed 
the  latter  part  of  his  life  solitary.  But,  in  answer  to  remarks 
upon  the  loneliness  of  his  situation,  he  has  more  than  once 
said  "  he  knew  not  what  the  feeling  of  solitude  was  ! — 
that  he  had  never  known  a  lonely  half  hour  !"  wondering 
how  others  could  feel  it,  there  was  such  a  "  world  within," 
it  left  no  room  for  solitude.  Two  enormous  Newfoundland 
dogs  formed  no  unimportant  link  in  his  domestic  establish- 


25 

ment ;  fond  of  dogs  in  general,  for  their  fidelity,  these 
two  were  his  playthings  and  favourites.  When  he  was 
seated  with  his  books,  one  of  these  huge  animals  was 
usually  found  at  his  feet,  waiting  for  the  kind  notice  he 
was  always  sure  to  receive. 

The  amor  patriot  was  with  him  a  strong  sentiment.  He 
loved  to  observe  the  rising  greatness  of  our  country,  her 
progress  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  was  a  lenient  judge, 
and  patron  of  her  literature.  It  was  under  a  sense  of  the 
many  advantages  and  blessings  which  we  enjoy  as  a  nation, 
that  he  says,  in  one  of  his  youthful  essays — 

"  Reflect,  Columbians,  to  your  God 
What  thanks,  what  heartfelt  thanks  are  due ; 

While  others  feel  his  chastening  rod, 
His  choicest  gifts  are  showered  on  you." 

In  thirty  years  he  had  not  even  visited  Philadelphia,  nor 
in  that  space  of  time  had  he  been  perhaps  more  than  fifteen 
miles  beyond  his  own  domain,  and  then  only  when  busi 
ness,  sometimes  of  a  public  nature,  called  him  ;  for  he  not 
only  contributed  to  the  public  benefit  from  his  purse,  but 
often  gave  his  personal  attention,  on  different  services,  for 
the  city  and  county  in  which  he  resided.  A  strict  regard 
for  truth,  in  the  minutest  particular,  was  a  striking  trait  in 
his  character.  In  his  view,  no  embellishments  of  fancy, 
nor  the  wit  or  humour  of  any  jest  in  conversation,  furnished 
the  least  apology  for  its  slightest  violation.  With  habitual 
care  on  this  point,  he  was  scrupulously  exact  in  the 
4 


26 

performance  of  every  promise,  whether  expressed  or  only 
implied.  This  practice  embraced  small  things  as  well  as 
great ;  acting  upon  the  principle  of  "putting  not  off  till  to 
morrow,  that  which  should  be  done  to-day,"  his  nice  sense 
of  rectitude  prompted  him  punctually  to  discharge  every 
kind  of  debt,  whether  small  or  great,  as  early  as  practicable 
after  it  was  due,  to  those  who  were  constantly  in  his 
employ  as  well  as  to  others.  Of  care  in  this  respect,  he 
was  remarked  as  a  singular  example.  He  had  beautified 
his  grounds  with  shrubbery  and  flowers,  in  which  he  took 
much  pleasure,  contemplating  them  with  the  eye,  and  the 
mind,  of  a  poet  and  a  Christian.  Gardening,  he  thought, 
might  not  inaptly  be  termed  the  "  poetry  of  farming." 
His  large  flock  of  poultry  of  various  kinds,  with  the  gay 
plumage  of  the  peacock  interspersed,  contributed  to  cheer 
the  winter  scene.  These,  knowing  the  hand  that  fed  them, 
assembled  round  him  morning  and  evening  for  their  boun 
tiful  supply  of  grain.  And  he  has  even  been  accused  of 
feeding  the  poor  famished  crows,  in  the  severity  of  winter, 
forgiving  their  summer  depredations  on  his  corn  fields. 
His  poultry,  so  cared  for  in  life,  he  humanely  endeavoured 
to  save  from  unnecessary  pain  in  death ;  and  in  order  to 
effect  this  as  speedily  as  possible,  he  always  caused  their 
heads  to  be  taken  off,  rather  than  incur  the  risk  of  pro 
tracted  suffering  for  them,  by  taking  their  lives  according 
to  the  usual  method. 

His  constitution  continued  firm,  and  his  activity  unim 
paired,  till  within  a  year  or  two  of  his  decease,  when  his 
health  began  visibly  to  decline ;  and  when  the  undeniable 


27 

messenger  arrived,  in  a  deeply  humbling1  sense  of  his  own 
nothingness  he  expressed  his  only  hope  and  trust  in  the 
mercy  of  God,  through  his  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ,  whose  supporting  arm  was  evidently  underneath, 
and  sustained  him  in  quietness  of  soul  during  the  conflict  of 
expiring  nature.  Although,  with  characteristic  diffidence, 
he  spoke  little  of  himself,  his  business  in  this  world  was 
finished ;  and  so  entirely  resigned  was  his  will  to  that 
of  his  Heavenly  Father,  that,  as  he  expressed  to  his  sor 
rowing  attendants,  "  he  dared  not  pray  for  life  or  death ;" 
and  with  a  mind  clear  and  unclouded  he  breathed  his 
last,  in  sweet  calmness  and  peace,  on  the  fourteenth  of 
the  eleventh  month,  1835,  in  the  64th  year  of  his  age, 
leaving  many  to  mourn  the  loss  of  a  generous  friend  and 
benefactor. 

The  miscellaneous  essays  which  form  the  present  col 
lection,  were  written  at  the  solicitation  of  friends,  or  for 
the  amusement  of  a  leisure  hour.  Some  of  them  were 
never  before  published — some,  not  intended  for  publication, 
found  their  way  to  the  press  without  his  knowledge.  And 
those  which  were  written  for  that  purpose,  were  scattered, 
by  their  author,  without  a  name,  in  the  periodical  papers 
of  the  day. 

He  wrote  with  ease  and  rapidity,  but,  with  true  modesty, 
he  was  a  severe  critic  on  the  productions  of  his  own  pen, 
and  consigned  them  to  the  flames  with  little  mercy ;  never 
preserving  the  manuscripts,  even  of  those  which  were 
given  to  the  world.  They  were  written,  neither  for  profit 


28 

nor  for  fame,  but  in  the  humble  hope  that  the  lessons  of 
morality  and  religion,  which  are  inculcated  in  most  of 
them,  might  awaken  in  the  reader  some  serious  thought. 
His  character  is  indeed  so  truly  delineated  in  his  writings, 
as  to  render  any  other  description  of  him  almost  super 
fluous. 


POEMS    AND    ESSAYS. 


AN  INDIAN  ECLOGUE. 

Scene —  The  Banks  of  the  Ohio.     Time — Morning. 

Scarce  had  the  morn  her  orient  course  begun. 
Or  early  breezes  fanned  the  rising  sun, 
When  Mingo  on  Ohio's  margin  stood, 
And  told  his  sorrows  to  the  gliding  flood  : — 

"  With  love  of  glory  would  the  chiefs  inflame 
My  breast,  and  lead  me  to  the  field  of  fame  : 
In  vain,  with  glee,  they  show  their  scalps  and  scars, 
The  glorious  trophies  of  their  former  wars  ; 
On  me  their  praises  and  reproofs  are  lost, 
No  flame  but  love,  but  scorching  love,  I  boast : 
The  nimble  Laura  does  my  breast  inspire, 
Wakes  every  sense,  and  sets  me  all  on  fire : 
Enraptured  while  I  view  her  yellow  neck, 
As  soft  as  bear-grease,  and  as  beaver  sleek, 
From  her  gray  eyes"  the  living  lightnings  rush, 
Like  the  fresh  dew-drops  glittering  through  a  bush. 


* 


30 

But  vain  my  songs  re  echo  through  the  shade, 
Nor  vows  nor  tears  can  move  the  haughty  maid. 
E'en  late  I  met  her  fainting  in  the  track, 
Her  child  and  blanket  dangling  at  her  back ; 
Scarce  moved  her  feet  beneath  the  heavy  load, 
And  drops  of  sweat  bedewed  the  groaning  road. 

"  Yet  other  nymphs  with  fruitless  ardour  burn, 
And  feel  a  passion  I  can  ne'er  return. 
In  vain,  with  gifts  of  fish,  Agolla  strove 
To  shake  my  constancy  and  win  my  love  ; 
Her  rough  advances  like  a  skunk  I  shun, 
And  from  her  face  with  eager  footsteps  run. 
But  vain  my  songs  re-echo  through  the  grove, 
Nor  vows  nor  tears  the  haughty  maid  can  move : 
Then  cease  these  fruitless  plaints — I  '11  take  my  spear, 
And  through  the  forest  chase  the  shaggy  bear ; 
The  bounding  buck  shall  own  my  oft-tried  art, 
And  feel  this  arrow  rankling  in  his  heart." 


31 


AN  INDIAN  ECLOGUE.* 

"  Not  with  more  haste  the  panting  doe  removes 
To  closer  coverts,  and  more  distant  groves, 
When  on  her  haunts  the  prowling  wolves  encroach, 
And  tainted  breezes  tell  the  foe's  approach, 
Than  Tuxa  flies  his  Agathol  to  meet, 
And  lay  his  sylvan  trophies  at  her  feet/' 

Thus  sang  Gatuxa,  'mid  the  echoing  grove, 
While  bending  poplars  learned  the  tale  of  love. 
Oh !  happy  morn,  supremely  blest,  he  cries, 
When  Agathol  first  met  my  ravished  eyes : 
'Twas  on  the  day  that  joy  unrivalled  reigns, 
And  all  the  fair  were  gathered  on  the  plains, 
When  valiant  Mingo  led  his  bride  away, 
And  laughing  pleasure  ruled  the  festive  day. 

"  But  see  !  she  comes !  my  Agathola  comes  ! 
How  shines  her  forehead,  and  how  slim  her  thumbs  ! 
What  heavenly  charms  her  tawny  breasts  unfold ! 
And  neck  more  yellow  than  Peruvian  gold  ! 
High  through  her  nose  a  painted  feather  hung ; 
Words,  smooth  as  acorns,  dropping  from  her  tongue ; 

*  This,  and  the  preceding,  were  written  at  fifteen  years  of  age. 


32 


O'er  her  sleek  form  with  decent  care  was  spread 
A  splendid  blanket,  striped  with  blue  and  red, 
While  bits  of  tin  and  brass  upon  her  toes, 
With  melting  clatter,  tinkle  as  she  goes. 
But  ah  !  how  fruitless  are  the  attempts  to  draw 
A  perfect  'semblance  of  my  peerless  squaw  ! 
Full  long  the  nymph,  by  noblest  motives  swayed, 
Withstood  my  suit,  while  lingering  in  the  shade ; 
But  when  bright  glory  raised  the  tribe  to  arms, 
And  all  the  forest  rung  with  loud  alarms, 
She  willing  followed  all  the  sultry  day, 
Nor  wept,  nor  grumbled,  at  the  tedious  way ; 
And  urged  by  her,  I  drew  the  twanging  bow 
With  tenfold  ardour  on  the  flying  foe." 


33 


THE  BACHELOR. 

While  some  in  lively  strains  relate 
The  pleasures  of  the  married  state. 
Shall  bachelors  unsung  remain, 
A  ridiculed,  though  harmless  train  ? 
A  scribbler's  name  I  covet  not, 
This  hour  admired,  the  next  forgot, 
And  useless,  thrown  neglected  by, 
In  dusty  heaps  his  labours  lie  ; 
I  only  wish,  devoid  of  pride, 

Whatever  fate 

My  songs  await, 
To  sing  my  happy  fire-side. 

No  helpless  infant's  hated  squalls 
Are  ever  heard  within  my  walls ; 
Nor  does  a  scolding  headstrong  wife 
Disturb  the  quiet  of  my  life  ; 
Lord  of  my  house,  I  sit  at  ease, 
And  smoke  my  pipe  whene'er  I  please ; 
Whilst  thou,  dear  John,  to  woman  tied, 

By  cradle's  toys, 

And  restless  boys, 
See'st  occupied  thy  fire-side. 

What  though  I  every  day  may  see 
Numbers  wealthier  far  than  me, 
5 


34 


In  glittering  equipages  go, 
While  I  must  foot  it,  rain  or  snow : 
Though  at  my  table  nought  be  seen, 
But  wholesome  viands,  plain  and  clean, 
Yet  still  I  am  with  gold  supplied, 

"  Enough  to  give 

The  means  to  live," 
To  some  who  have  no  fire-side. 

There  are,  who  obstinate  and  vain, 
Exult  in  bonds,  and  hug  the  chain  ] 
Let  these  the  sweets  of  wedlock  boast, 
And  toil  to  "  gild  a  rotten  post." 
See  Crito,  needy  and  forlorn, 
In  sackcloth  curse  his  bridal  mom  j 
Blest  with  a  fashionable  bride, 

He's  forced  to  roam, 

Or  teased  at  home, 
And  ne'er  enjoys  his  fire-side. 

Let  others  tell  the  joys  of  love, 

But  keep  me  from  them,  powers  above  ! 

Preserve  me  from  that  plague  of  life, 

A  froward  and  expensive  wife. 

But  lest  my  choice  should  wrongly  fall, 

E'en  let  me  have  no  wife  at  all ; 

But  still  to  gentle  peace  allied, 

With  smiles  survey 

Each  new-born  day, 
And  still  enjoy  my  fire-side. 


35 


STANZAS. 

Sweet  is  friendship's  sacred  flame, 

Sweet  is  fancy's  magic  power, 
Sweet  the  breath  of  well-earned  fame, 

Sweet  each  self-approving  hour  : 

Sweet  the  peace  their  bosoms  know, 

Who  bid  the  sorrowing  cease  to  sigh ; 
And  sweet  the  stealing  tears  that  flow 
Prom  dove-like  Pity's  pensive  eye  : 

But  sweeter  far  the  joy,  when  Hymen  binds 
In  his  soft  fetters  two  congenial  minds ; 
His  torch,  unlike  the  meteor's  transient  blaze, 
Will  gild  their  prospects  with  unvarying  rays ; 
The  darkest  hours  of  changing  life  illume, 
And  spread  a  radiance  round  the  peaceful  tomb. 


36 


HYMN. 

Almighty  Father  !  deign  to  hear 

A  groveling  mortal's  feeble  lays. 
Who,  filled  with  wonder,  love  and  fear, 

Attempts  the  rapturous  work  of  praise. 

Around  the  sweetly  smiling  land, 
Where'er  I  turn  my  raptured  eyes, 

I  see  with  joy  the  powerful  hand 

That  stretched  immense  yon  radiant  skies. 

When  spring  returns  to  glad  our  land. 

Thy  bounty  robes  the  laughing  vale, 
Dead  matter  wakes  at  thy  command ! 

And  insect  millions  load  the  gale. 

The  glittering  dew  proclaims  thy  power, 
The  springing  grass,  the  waving  corn, 

And  every  herb,  and  every  flower, 

That  scents  the  roseate  breath  of  mom. 

Not  less  thy  hand,  All-moving  Soul ! 

In  the  least,  humblest  worm,  I  trace, 
Than  in  yon  glorious  worlds  that  roll 

Throughout  the  unmeasured  fields  of  space. 


37 


The  ploughman  plies  his  annual  toil, 
For  wasting  nature  to  provide ; 

With  jocund  heart  he  turns  the  soil, 
And  throws  the  future  harvest  wide. 

But  vain  his  hopes,  his  labours  vain, 
If  thou  forbid  the  germ  to  grow ; 

'Tis  thou  must  send  the  genial  rain, 
And  bid  the  fostering  breezes  blow. 

From  thee,  exhaustless  source  of  good  ! 

Poor  man  his  little  all  receives ; 
Thy  bounty  flows  a  boundless  flood, 

And  feeds  and  blesses  all  that  lives. 

O  may  the  portion,  Power  Divine  ! 

Of  thy  blest  works  which  here  I  see, 
My  groveling  thoughts  exalt,  refine, 

And  lead  my  wandering  soul  to  thee. 

And  while  on  this  dark  world  I  stray, 
Do  thou  o'er  all  my  steps  preside, 

And  bear  me  o'er  each  slippery  way, 
My  God,  my  Father,  Friend,  and  Guide. 


38 


ON  DRESS.— TO  THE  LADIES. 


WRITTEN  IN  1791. 

Madam,  lay  down  that  novel,  if  you  please, 

And  try  a  slice  of  more  salubrious  food, 
No  soup  of  frogs, — no  red-hot  fricassees, 

To  crack  the  cranium  and  inflame  the  blood. 
I  bring  but  a  small  piece  of  wholesome  meat, 
Which,  when  you  taste,  you'll  find  both  short  and  sweet. 

Oft  have  I  mourned,  when  I've  beheld  a  troop 
Of  damsels,  bearing  on  their  lovely  backs, 

A  load  enough  to  make  Alcides  stoop, 
Of  transatlantic  frippery,  and  nick-nacks  : 

Then  have  I  thought,  at  some  convenient  time 

I'd  give  these  girls  some  good  advice  in  rhyme.  ,f:  * 

Advice  is  a  mere  drug,  (you'll  say,  no  doubt,) 
And  fools,  in  general,  are  the  first  to  give  it ; 

In  prose  and  verse  'tis  freely  dealt  about ; 
But  very  few  think  proper  to  receive  it — 

Ladies,  all  this  is  very  true,  I  grant, 

But  still  'tis  plain,  some  good  advice  you  want : 


39 


And  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  mine  will  please  ye, 
For  various  beauties  sparkle  in  my  rhyme  j 

Though  strong  and  nervous,  yet  how  smooth  and  easy. 
And  lo  !  what  touches  of  the  true  sublime  ! 

So  sweet  my  numbers,  you  will  almost  think 

I've  swilled  a  hogshead  of  the  Muses'  drink. 

From  small  beginnings  what  great  things  may  rise  ! 

When  Mrs.  Eve,  good  mother  of  ye  all, 
First  thought  of  dress,  one  fig-leaf  could  suffice 

For  coat  and  linen,  apron,  gown,  and  shawl. 
No  wish  for  far-fetched  finery  filled  her  breast ; 
She  thought,  no  doubt,  the  broadest  leaf  the  best. 

For  sundry  moons,  through  all  her  happy  race, 
This  simple,  neat,  and  frugal  fashion  ran ; 

'Till  some  misshapen  beau,  to  shun  disgrace, 
Or  tender  belle,  improved  upon  the  plan, 

And  stitched,  good  souls  !  a  dozen  leaves  together, 

To  hide  defects,  and  keep  off  stormy  weather. 

Each  following  age  to  some  new  whim  gave  birth ; 

But  to  the  present  sapient  race  'twas  given 
To  ransack  all  the  copious  stores  of  earth, 

By  Fashion,  child  of  Pride  and  Folly,  driven  ; 
And  in  the  covering  of  their  skins  so  white, 
The  different  regions  of  the  world  unite. 

Oh !  couldst  thou,  Eve,  from  thy  long  slumber  rise. 
_Arid  view  thy  daughters,  all  so  fine  and  fair, 


40 


How  would  amazement  open  wide  thine  eyes  ! 

How,  lost  in  silent  wonder,  wouldst  thou  stare 
At  all  the  various  works  of  cork  and  gauze, 
The  rumps  enormous,  and  terrific  craws  ! 

Of  all  thy  children,  who  so  great  as  we  ! 

Lo  !  haughty  Europe  makes  our  shirts  and  cloth ; 
The  West  sends  sweetening,  and  the  East,  d'ye  see, 

Dried  leaves  to  make,  and  cups  to  hold,  our  broth : 
The  world's  three  quarters,  maugre  all  their  fuss, 
Are  labouring,  like  so  many  mules,  for  us. 

(Our  rising  empire  is  a  babe  new-born, 
All  fat  and  lovely,  smiling  in  his  cradle ; 

The  nations,  nurses  kind,  who  serve  in  turn — 
One  holds  the  clout,  another  the  pap  ladle : 

Of  sugar  drams,  this  gives  him  many  a  sup, 

And  this  in  flannel  wraps  the  urchin  up.) 

There  was  a  time — Columbia's  gothic  days, 

When  maidens  spun  their  wedding-gowns  and  linen  ; 

But  now,  so  tasty,  so  refined  our  ways, 

A  homespun  gown  no  wench  will  stick  a  pin  in  ; 

The  veriest  dowdy  now  is  too  genteel 

To  waste  a  moment  at  the  whirling  wheel,  y  ; 

Observe  yon  belles  !  behold  the  waspish  waist ! 

See  the  broad  bishop  spreading  far  behind  ; 
The  shawl  immense,  with  uncouth  figures  graced, 

And  veil  loose  waving  in  the  playful  wind ; 


41 


Mark  the  huge  bonnets,  stuck  on  hills  of  hair, 
Like  meteors  streaming  through  the  turbid  air. 

But  hold — I've  wandered  from  the  end  in  view, 
A  mile  or  more  ;  I  only  meant,  d'ye  see, 

To  give  a  mouthful  of  advice  or  two, 
Ladies,  and  make  you  patriots,  to  a  she  ! 

Not  to  arraign  your  manners — not  to  hint 

A  word  about  your  dress,  or  fashions,  in't. 

Build  on  your  heads  till  they  o'ertop  the  trees, 
But  let  the  fabric  be  our  country  work ; 

Wear  bishops  still,  as  monstrous  as  you  please, 
But  make,  oh  !  make  'em  of  Columbian  cork. 

'Tis  time  to  show  the  proud  European  elves 

That  we  can  dress,  as  well  as  feed,  ourselves. 

Begin,  ye  fair  !  adopt  the  glorious  plan  ; 

Reform  and  shine,  in  this  reforming  day  ! 
(And  not  a  soul  that  bears  the  name  of  man, 

But,  pleased,  will  follow  where  you  lead  the  way.) 
Equip  yourselves,  your  spouses,  and  your  rooms, 
With  lasting  fabrics  from  Columbian  looms. 

No  more,  when  wintry  winds  inclement  rise, 
And  chilling  damps  prevail — invite  disease  ; 

No  more,  in  garments  formed  for  milder  skies, 
Start  at  a  cloud,  and  shudder  at  a  breeze ; 

But,  wrapped  in  homespun  woollen,  snug  and  warm, 

Smile  at  the  tempest,  and  enjoy  the  storm. 
6 


42 


With  your  own  hands,  the  snowy  wool  prepare  : 

Bid  your  sweet  prattlers  sit  assisting  by ; 
Health,  Peace,  and  Pleasure  shall  repay  your  care, 

And  pale  Disease  the  happy  mansion  fly ; 
No  painful  thoughts  your  midnight  hours  molest, 
But  heaven-sent  visions  lull  your  souls  to  rest. 

Charissa !  were  each  blooming  maid  like  thee, 

The  world  would  ne'er  have  seen  this  well-meant  song ; 

And  our  loved  country  would,  indeed,  be  free 
Prom  those  vile  shackles  she  has  worn  too  long. 

But  ah  !  how  few  have  sense,  like  thee,  to  prize 

True  home-bred  peace,  arid  empty  show  despise. 

'Twas  not  thy  pouting  lip,  of  rosy  dye, 

Nor  breast,  where  all  the  loves  delighted  rove, 

Nor  the  blue  languish  of  thy  speaking  eye, 
That  in  my  bosom  roused  the  flame  of  love ; 

(Yet  thou  art  fair  as  Cynthia's  softest  ray— - 

More  sweet,  more  lovely,  than  the  new-born  day.) 

No,  no,  my  fair  one  !  'twas  substantial  merit — 
Thy  mind,  by  foolish  pride  ne'er  led  astray ; 

Thy  economic,  thy  industrious  spirit — 

Thy  love  of  homespun — bore  my  heart  away. 

(Let  not  this  well-earned  praise  offend  thy  ear. 

By  truth  dictated,  and  esteem  sincere.) 


A  LOVE   LETTER. 

Oh  !  Molly,  Molly,  what  a  thing  is  love  ! 
It  makes  the  eagle  gentle  as  the  dove, 
The  griping  miser  cash  and  bonds  despise, 
The  wise  man  foolish,  and  the  foolish  wise. 

Till  this  strange  passion  seized  my  throbbing  breast, 
Disturbed  my  days,  and  broke  my  nightly  rest, 
Serene,  unruffled,  flowed  my  tranquil  hours, 
My  mind  unconscious  of  its  tuneful  powers. 
Nay,  oft  when  leisure  led  me  to  peruse 
The  pleasing  records  of  diurnal  news, 
I've  shunned  the  corner  where  the  printers  place 
The  labours  of  the  thriftless  rhyming  race. ; 
But  now  I  feel  the  scribbling  mania  strong, 
And  not  tmfrequent  ease  my  brain  in  song ; 
And  should  this  letter,  which  I  now  indite, 
Be  found  (when  finished)  pleasing  in  thy  sight, 
I'll  make  our  clerk  engross  it  fair  and  clean, 
And  have  it  entered  in  the  Magazine. 

O  !  never,  never,  be  forgot  the  night 
When  first  thy  beauties  met  my  ravished  sight ; 
Though  brilliant  fair  ones  in  the  circles  shone, 
My  eyes  incessant  dwelt  on  thee  alone ; 


44 


How  did  I  joy  thy  snowy  hand  to  see 
Arrange  the  china,  and  pour  out  the  tea  ! 
By  sudden  love  o'erwhelmed,  O  dire  mishap  ! 
I  poured  the  scalding  liquid  in  my  lap. 

Can  I  forget  the  mom  I  chanced  to  meet 
My  heart's  enslaver  in  the  slippery  street ; 
How  did  my  nerves  with  fear  and  horror  shrink 
To  see  thee  tottering  on  the  gutter's  brink  ! 
Impelled  by  love,  I  left  the  sheltering  wall, 
And  spoilt  my  stockings  to  prevent  thy  fall. 
Have  I  not  strove  to  improve  thee,  and  delight, 
Thy  steps  attending  to  each  novel  sight  ? 
The  lion,  circus,  theatre,  and  pig, 
The  man  so  small,  and  elephant  so  big ! 
And  left  the  counter  on  a  busy  day, 
To  take  thee  gadding  in  the  gliding  sleigh  ? 
'Tis  true,  although  we  had  not  far  to  go, 
I  overturned  thee  in  the  fleecy  snow, 
(Not  knowing  well  the  nature  of  a  horse, 
This  discomfiture  was  a  thing  of  course.) 
O  may  the  villain  feel  the  blush  of  shame, 
Who  twice  assured  me  that  the  beast  was  tame. 
But  when  in  future  on  the  sabbath  days 
We  take  an  airing  in  the  one-horse  chaise, 
Our  negro  boy  shall  sit  before  and  guide, 
So  shall  my  dear  and  self  securely  ride. 

A  rustic  genius,  if  perchance  his  heart 
Is  pierced  by  Cupid's  all  pervading  dart, 


45 


Makes  flowery  meadows  his  perpetual  theme, 
A  balmy  zephyr,  or  a  purling  stream  ; 
Informs  his  fair  one  of  his  grass  and  clover, 
And  counts  in  song  his  pigs  and  poultry  over  ; 
On  scenes  far  different  does  my  fancy  rove, 
Far  other  objects  win  my  Molly's  love. 
I  joy  to  wander  through  my  crowded  store, 
See  bales  and  boxes  load  the  bending  floor  ; 
There,  Europe's  produce  fills  the  wond'ring  eye, 
And  yonder,  India's  splendid  treasures  lie  ! 
Nynsooks,  Mamoodies,  Pullicats,  Bandannas, 
Johanabad,  and  Chittabully  'Sannas  ; 
Humhums  and  Mulmuls,  Gurrahs  and  Salgatches, 
Cossedas,  Allabullys,  Nymposatches  j 
Of  Tanda  cossas,  Terrindams  a  store, 
And  Baftas  Alliahbad  and  Luckipore. 

O  didst  thou,  Molly,  know  what  pains  I  take 
To  make  my  person  pleasing,  for  thy  sake  ! 
My  dress  adjusting  with  unwearied  toil, 
My  features  moulding  to  the  happiest  smile, 
Sure  Pity  would  thy  gentle  bosom  move, 
(Pity,  the  meek-eyed  harbinger  of  Love  :) 
And  lo  !  what  scenes  enlivening  Hope  displays  ! 
What  suns  of  joy  to  gild  my  future  days  ! 
It  tells  me  Molly  will  incline  her  ear, 
And  crown  my  wishes  in  —  perhaps  a  year. 

REUBEN. 

Philadelphia. 


46 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  WM.  LIVINGSTON,  LL.  D. 

LATE  GOVERNOR  OF  THE  STATE  OF  NEW  JERSEY. 
Written  in  1791. 

When  vulgar  souls,  when  men  of  common  mould. 
Slide  off  the  stage,  and  turn  to  native  dust, 
Whether  they  meet  the  awful  king  of  death 
In  the  thatch'd  cottage  or  the  aspiring  dome, 
E'en  let  them  lie. 

But  shall  the  immortal  bard — the  patriot  sage— 
The  man  to  virtue  and  to  science  dear — 
Whose  bosom  glowed  with  Freedom's  sacred  flame, 
And  warmest  wishes  for  his  country's  weal — 
Sleep  with  his  fathers  in  the  oblivious  grave, 
And  not  a  sigh  proclaim  the  public  loss  ? 

Shall  not  the  muse  attend  the  mournful  bier, 
To  deck  with  fragrant  wreaths  her  votary's  urn, 
And  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  the  illustrious  dead  ?— 
Yes,  Livingston  !  and  since  no  abler  hand — 
No  Barlow,  Humphreys,  Dwight — attunes  the  lyre, 
To  pay  the  tribute  to  thy  memory  due, 
Even  I,  the  meanest  of  the  muse's  train, 


47 

Timid,  attempt  the  sadly  pleasing  task. 

Look  down,  then,  from  that  bright,  that  bless'd  abode, 

Where,  joining  with  the  radiant  sons  of  light 

In  hymns  divine,  of  gratitude  and  praise, 

In  bliss  ineffable  !  thou  sit'st — look  down, 

And  warm  my  breast  with  that  ethereal  flame 

Which  erst,  delightful  bard  !  illumined  thine. 

Then  might  I  sing,  in  numbers  worthy  thee, 

The  virtues  that  adorned  thy  liberal  mind ; 

Thy  piety  unfeigned — thy  judgment  sound — 

Thy  firm  integrity — thy  honest  scorn 

Of  knaves,  wherever  found,  or  great  or  small — 

Thy  charity,  and  warm  benevolence, 

Which  flowed  unbounded  as  the  light  of  heaven, 

To  no  peculiar  sect  of  men  confined — 

Thy  various  labours  for  the  public  good — 

Thy  just  discernment,  and  thy  taste  refined  : 

And  teach,  in  lays  immortal  as  thy  own, 

Columbia's  sons  to  emulate  thy  worth. 

Let  others  trace  thee  through  the  splendid  scenes 
Of  public  life,  amidst  thy  sage  compeers 
For  legislation  met ;  and  tell  how  oft 
Thy  worth-discerning  country  called  thee  forth, 
To  guard  her  interests  and  defend  her  cause. 
Let  these  portray  thee  in  that  glorious  hour, 
When,  with  Columbia's  sapient  sons  convened* — 
August  assemblage  !  your  united  toils, 

*  The  grand  convention  in  1787. 


48 


By  patriot  zeal  and  wisdom  guided,  formed       jl 
A  work,  the  envy  of  the  admiring  world. 

I  joy  to  view  thee  in  an  humble  sphere, 
In  the  calm,  noiseless  walks  of  private  life ; 
And  here,  O  Livingston  !  thy  genius  shone 
With  not  less  pleasing,  though  less  dazzling  rays. 

Who  shall  describe  thee  in  those  gentler  scenes, 
Convivial,  when,  encircled  with  thy  friends, 
Thou  pass'dst  in  social  chat  the  hours  away  ? 
Who  shall  describe  thy  manners,  easy,  mild, — 
Thy  fund  of  anecdote — thy  sprightly  wit — 
Which,  by  good  nature  and  by  prudence  reined, 
Ne'er  failed  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar  ? 

Methinks  I  see  thee  in  thy  rural  shade, 

Where  modest  art  and  simple  nature  reign, 

Turning,  with  curious  hand,  the  historic  page, 

Or  philosophic  ;  or  deceiving  time 

In  gentle  dalliance  with  th'  Aonian  maids, 

Enjoying  that  delightful  solitude — 

That  learned  ease — thou  knew'st  so  well  to  draw  !* 

But  what  avails  the  elegiac  song, 

What  all  the  honours  that  the  muse  can  pay  ? 

Lamented  shade !  the  few,  the  happy  few, 

Blest  with  thy  friendship,  need  no  plaintive  verse, 

*  See  a  poem  called  "  Philosophic  Solitude,"  by  Governor  Livingston. 


49 

. "  *  tp*    •  < 

To  wake  remembrance  of  thy  many  virtues, 
And  prompt  afresh,  the  fond,  the  fruitless  tear. 

And  thy  illustrious  name,  O  Livingston  ! 
Shall  live  and  "  triumph  o'er  the  lapse  of  time," 
When  this  well-meant,  this  tributary  lay, 
And  he  who  wrote  it,  sleep  in  endless  night. 


50 


ON  SEEING  A  WREN  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  WINTER. 


Poor  little  trembler !  why  hast  thou  alone 
The  winter's  rigour  thus  presumed  to  try? — 

To  other  lands  thy  russet  friends  have  flown, 
To  groves  that  wave  beneath  a  kinder  sky. 

,F  - 

Through  the  long  gloomy  night  and  joyless  day, 
Destruction  near  thee  rears  its  horrid  form ; 

The  louring  tempest  marks  thee  for  its  prey, 
And  cats,  unpitying  as  the  driving  storm. 

But  know,  this  deluge  of  o'erwhelming  woes, 
This  scene  terrific,  will  not  long  prevail ; 

Again  shall  beauty's  hand  unfold  the  rose, 
Again  shall  sweetness  float  on  every  gale. 

And  when  thy  kindred,  in  that  happier  hour, 
Return  to  visit  each  remembered  tree, 

In  some  sequestered,  blossom-covered  bower, 
This  hand  shall  fix  a  peaceful  home  for  thee. 


THE    LOVE-DOCTOR. 


The  following  correspondence  arose  from  a  conversation,  in 
which  the  author  professed  the  knowledge  of  a  cure  for  love.  To  be 
understood,  it  will  be  necessary  to  give  the  epistles  on  both  sides. 


THE  CASE  OF  AMANDA. 

Good  doctor,  with  a  piteous  face 

I  come  to  tell  my  hopeless  case ; 

You  boast  such  most  amazing  skill, 

That  you  can  cure  me,  if  you  will. 

1  love — alas  !  too  well  I  know 

I  love  a  most  enchanting  beau  ! 

The  sad  disorder  grows  apace 

And  clouds  with  care  my  every  grace. 

I'll  state  my  feelings  first  of  all, 

To  know  if  those  you  symptoms  call ; 

Know  then,  a  most  tormenting  pain 

Shoots  frequent  through  my  heart  and  brain  ; 

My  memory 's  short,  my  pulse  is  low  j 

I  dream  of  Cupid  and  his  bow ; 


52 

For  several  hours  I  sit  and  sigh, 

And  the  tear  trembles  in  my  eye  ; 

And  when  I  pass  a  shady  grove, 

I  think  upon  the  swain  I  love. 

A  seat  beneath  a  willow  tree 

Is  a  mere  paradise  to  me ; 

A  love  song,  or  romantic  tale 

Of  Ralph  and  Nancy  of  the  vale, 

Wakes  the  soft  impulse  in  my  breast, 

And  robs  the  sickened  soul  of  rest. 

And  when  I  seize  the  trembling  quill, 

To  write  of  fountain,  or  of  rill, 

Or  dedicate  a  tuneful  line 

To  any  female  friend  of  mine. 

The  treacherous  plume  at  random  strays, 

And  launches  forth  in  Damon's  praise. 

These  are  my  maladies  I  own, 
Discovered  to  yourself  alone ; 
And  now,  good  doctor,  pray  prescribe, 
And  I  '11  prepare  the  golden  bribe. 

AMANDA. 

Burlington,  Wednesday  morning,  7  o'clock. 


53 


TO  AMANDA. 

Amanda  !  with  pity  I  've  read 

The  tale  of  the  woes  you  endure. 

And  have  more  than  once  puzzled  my  head 
In  attempting  to  find  out  a  cure. 

But  alas  !  if  my  patients  complain, 
And  tell  of  their  pains  with  such  art, 

I  must  ne'er  boast  of  healing  again, 
But  endeavour  to  shield  my  own  heart. 

What  nostrums,  ye  gods  !  can  remove, 
What  pill  or  what  potion  allay, 

The  heart-rending  sorrows  of  love, 
Or  drive  the  remembrance  away  ? 

Thus,  vexed  and  dejected,  I  cried 

As  idly  I  sauntered  along, 
When,  encircled  with  glory,  I  spied 

The  Genius  of  physic  and  song. 


On  the  breeze  of  the  morning  he  sailed, 
The  Muses  encircled  his  car, 

While  odours  celestial  prevailed, 

Throughout  the  bright  regions  of  air. 


54 


"  Fond  mortal,  thy  labour  is  vain," 
With  ineffable  sweetness,  he  said, 

"  No  relief  can  Amanda  obtain 
From  all  the  receipts  in  thy  head. 

"  But  far  in  the  East,*  where  I  rise, 
A  skilful  physician  she  '11  find, 

To  whom  if  Amanda  applies, 

She  '11  recover  her  calmness  of  mind." 


ESCULAPIUS. 


TO  ESCULAPIUS. 

Can  I  journey  afar  in  the  East, 

This  medical  genius  to  find, 
Who  's  to  act  as  physician  and  priest, 

And  prescribe  for  both  body  and  mind  ? 

'Twas  a  cruel  invention  of  yours, 

To  evade  what  you  once  undertook, 
Since  you  cannot  perform  any  cures, 

But  what  are  put  down  in  your  book. 

The  gentleman  to  whom  Amanda  was  afterwards  united  was  then  in  India. 


55 

Physicians— an  envious  band, 

Shall  snatch  the  young  bays  from  your  head, 
And  wide  o'er  Columbia's  land 

The  report  of  your  shame  shall  be  spread. 

I  '11  tell  the  fair  victims  of  love, 
Who  complain  of  the  pangs  they  endure, 

That  the  doctor  of  Hickory  Grove 
May  wound,  but  he  never  can  cure. 

There  is  only  one  mean  in  your  power, 

To  prevent  this  assemblage  of  ill, 
Which  is,  that  in  this  very  hour 

You  engage  to  comply  with  my  will. 

Bid  the  son  of  Latona  prepare 

A  robe  of  cerulean  dye, 
Or  a  still  brighter  vestment  of  air, 

And  convey  the  young  sage  through  the  sky. 

Then  should  he  a  recipe  show 

That  will  yield  me  contentment  of  mind, 
On  him  the  reward  I  '11  bestow, 

And  1  hope  you  won't  take  it  unkind. 

But  alas  !  I  have  nothing  to  give 

But  my  hand,  and  an  innocent  heart, 

Which  he  never  would  deign  to  receive 
Had  I  offered  another  a  part. 

AMANDA, 


56 


TO  AMANDA. 


Amanda,  I  cannot  conceal 

How  much  I  respect  and  approve, 

The  frankness,  with  which  you  reveal 

(Since  you  find  you  can't  conquer)  your  love. 

How  many  a  fair  one  has  pined. 
Yet  travelled  through  life  all  alone, 

Before  she  'd  unburthen  her  mind, 
Or  make  her  uneasiness  known ! 

But  no  longer  shall  custom  prevail 

In  defiance  of  reason  and  sense  : 
Amanda  has  dared  to  assail 

The  monster,  and  banished  him  hence. 

Disdaining  the  hypocrite's  art, 

She  offers,  explicit  and  clear, 
To  give  up  her  hand  and  her  heart, 

The  moment  her  swain  shall  appear. 

Then  Damon,  ah  !  shorten  thy  stay, 

Leave  the  East  and  its  treasures  behind ; 

This  instant  thy  canvass  display, 
And  fly  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 


57 

* 

What  pleasure  has  man  here  below, 

So  ecstatic,  so  nearly  divine  ? 
As  stemming  the  torrent  of  woe, 

And  that  pleasure,  blest  youth  !  may  be  thine. 

To  the  cell  of  the  mourner  repair, 

The  demon  of  anguish  control, 
Dispel  the  dark  clouds  of  her  care, 

And  whisper  sweet  peace  to  her  soul. 

ESCULAPIUS. 


TO  ESCULAPIUS. 

Why  so  sanguine,  good  doctor,  I  pray  ? 

Why  flatter  yourself  and  your  friend, 
That  should  he  his  canvass  display, 

Success  would  his  voyage  attend  ? 

'T  is  a  difficult  science,  he  '11  find, 
To  engage  in  affairs  of  the  heart ; 

And  to  yield  me  contentment  of  mind 
Consists  not  in  medical  art. 

8 


58 


That  ease  which  I  so  much  desire 
No  med'cine  can  ever  bestow, 

But  the  recipe  I  shall  require 
I  will  briefly  endeavour  to  show : 

Not  a  diet  of  gruel  and  salt, 
To  impoverish  body  and  mind, 

But  treatment  that  7s  kind,  to  a  fault, 
With  respect  and  timidity  joined. 

A  character,  guileless  and  bright, 
By  weakness  or  folly  unstained, 

Generosity's  heaven-taught  flight, 
By  economy's  caution  restrained. 

The  softness,  the  spirit  of  youth, 

The  cool  recollection  of  age, 
An  adherence  to  virtue  and  truth, 

And  the  sacred  historical  page. 

Strong  sense,  and  a  justness  of  thought, 
That  will  all  my  wild  fancies  improve, 

Ambition,  with  fortitude  fraught, 
And  dignity  softened  by  love. 

A  spirit  no  menace  can  bend, 

Though  mildness  the  point  may  secure, 
A  tear  for  the  woes  of  a  friend, 

And  a  purse  for  the  wants  of  the  poor. 


59 

4 

That  physician,  whoever  he  be, 

Who  will  mix  these  ingredients  with  art, 
And  present  the  blest  compound  to  me, 

Is  worthy  my  hand  and  my  heart. 

But  pray  what  assurance  have  I 

That  your  friend  in  the  East  can  do  this  ? 
Yet  you  take  it  for  granted,  and  cry 

Come  Damon,  inherit  the  bliss  ! 

It  is  but  conjecture,  at  best, 

That  he  is  not  an  ignorant  elf, 
Who  may  prove,  if  he 's  brought  to  the  test, 

As  arrant  a  quack  as  yourself. 

AMANDA. 


TO  AMANDA. 


Amanda,  I  beg  you  '11  forgive  my  delay, 
For  believe  me.  the  fault  was  not  mine, 

I  would  sooner  have  answered  your  beautiful  lay, 
But  I  wanted  the  help  of  the  nine. 


60 


And  you  know  that  the  poet  may  labour  in  vain, 

Unless  the  kind  muse  will  inspire  ; 
And  that  he  's  a  blockhead,  who  troubles  his  brain 

Till  his  bosom  is  fairly  on  fire  : 

Some  ages  ago,  when  her  votaries  were  few, 
The  muse  was  a  complaisant  dame, 

The  bard  who  was  puzzled,  had  nothing  to  do 
But  to  halloo,  and  straightway  she  came  ; 

But  now  with  her  endless,  vexatious  delays, 
The  patience  of  Job  would  be  tired  ; 

I  have  called  her,  and  waited  a  score  of  long  days, 
But  have  not,  as  yet,  been  inspired. 

Then  let  her  go  whistle,  I  '11  trust  to  my  head, 

And  be  witty  in  spite  of  the  trull ; 
Or  if  my  productions  are  tinctured  with  lead, 

It  is  surely  no  crime  to  be  dull. 

So  much  for  the  preface,  and  now  if  you  choose, 

Amanda,  I  '11  tell  you  a  dream, 
(And  sure  't  is  sufficient,  the  bard  to  excuse, 

Who  is  drowsy,  that  you  are  his  theme.) 

In  relating  a  vision,  a  poet  professed 

Would  certainly  pester  the  skies, 
Or  tell  you  at  least,  that  the  genius  of  rest 

Threw  a  poppy  or  two  in  his  eyes  : 


61 


But  such  heathenish  fables  I  mortally  hate — 
Then  know,  when  I  opened  your  last, 

And  was  weighing  profoundly  your  case  in  my  pate. 
Sleep's  cobweb  entangled  me  fast. 

But  fancy,  unfettered,  still  busily  wrought, 

And  faithfully  stuck  to  the  theme, 
Till  with  scraps  of  ideas,  and  fragments  of  thought, 

She  patched  up  the  following  dreani. 

So  immense  that  I  sought  for  the  boundaries  in  vain, 

A  beautiful  region  I  found, 
A  strange,  motley  multitude  covered  the  plain, 

And  darkness  encompassed  it  round. 

As,  full  of  surprise,  I  observed  the  mad  throng, 

One,  led  by  the  muses,  drew  nigh, 
And  I  thought  as  all  sadly  she  journeyed  along, 

I  discovered  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

She  was  not  a  goddess,  (I  will  not  deceive,) 
With  sunbeams  and  clouds  at  her  call, 

Nor  flaring  in  fig-leaves,  like  good  mother  Eve, 
But  clad  in  gown,  bonnet,  and  shawl. 

She  eyed  the  poor  short-sighted  crowd  she  forsook, 

With  a  mixture  of  pity  and  scorn, 
But  often  she  cast  a  long,  languishing  look 

Toward  the  first  blushes  of  morn  : 


When  approaching  more  nigh,  I  perceiv'd  she  was  crazed, 

For,  frequently  making  a  stand, 
Like  the  king  at  the  dumpling,  intensely  she  gazed 

On  a  picture*  she  held  in  her  hand. 

'T  was  the  portrait,  I  found,  of  a  youth  far  away, 

Who  had  cruelly  set  her  on  flame, 
Then  hid  himself  under  the  chamber  of  day  ; 

And  Damon,  she  said,  was  his  name. 

But  whether  't  was  sketched  by  the  pencil  of  truth, 

Or  by  fond  partiality  drawn, 
I  know  not ;  for  ere  I  could  find  the  loved  youth, 

I  waked,  and  my  vision  was  gone. 

ESCULAPITJS. 


*  The  character  drawn  in  your  last. 


63 


AN    ATTEMPT    TO    PARAPHRASE    SOME    PARTS    OF 


THE    TWENTY-FIFTH    PSALM 


To  Thee,  O  God  !  my  secret  prayers  arise, 
On  Thee  with  confidence  my  soul  relies ; 
Fountain  of  light  and  life  !  illume  my  mind, 
To  error  subject,  as  by  nature  blind : 
Teach  me  thy  will,  and  lead  me  in  thy  ways, 
And  teach  my  tongue  to  lisp  the  notes  of  praise  ! 
In  times  like  these,  when  headstrong  passions  rage, 
When  vice  and  folly  rule  a  faithless  age  ; 
When  erring  man,  his  boasted  reason's  slave, 
Vain  of  the  gift,  forgets  the  hand  that  gave, 
Shall  those  that  love  Thee  be  withheld  by  shame, 
Their  trust  from  owning  in  the  Eternal  name  ? 
Ah  no  !  far  rather  let  the  sons  of  pride 
Return,  repentant,  to  the  unerring  guide ; 
From  sin  and  death,  from  doubt  and  darkness  flee, 
To  light,  to  life,  to  happiness,  and  Thee. 
The  meek  and  lowly  who  upon  Thee  wait, 
Know  that  thy  goodness,  as  thy  power,  is  great ; 
They  know  thou  wilt,  in  boundless  mercy,  roll 
A  tide  of  rapture  o'er  the  humbled  soul, 


64 


Which,  filled  with  grief,  with  conscious  guilt  opprest, 

To  Thee,  the  rock  of  ages •,  flies  for  rest. 

Before  thy  throne  with  trembling  hope  I  bend  ! 

Thy  wonted  mercy  to  my  soul  extend ; 

That  tender  mercy,  which  of  old  displayed, 

Has  ceaseless  cherished  all  thy  hand  has  made. 

Great  are  my  sins,  to  thy  all-searching  eye, 

Exposed  in  order,  my  transgressions  lie  : 

Thou  knowest  each  guilty  thought,  each  secret  stain 

That  wrings  rny  bosom  with  remorse  and  pain. 

Great  are  my  sins,  but  be  those  sins  forgot ; 

My  countless  failings  from  thy  memory  blot : 

Behold  my  grief,  and  give  my  heart  to  prove, 

The  joys,  the  riches  of  thy  pardoning  love. 

And  oh  !  while  wandering  in  this  mortal  state, 

Where  round  my  path  unnumbered  dangers  wait ; 

Where  strong  temptation  oft  incites  to  sin, 

And  restless  passions  raise  a  storm  within ; 

Do  Thou  be  near  me  !  let  thy  arm  of  power 

From  evil  shield  me,  in  each  trying  hour ; 

To  Thee  for  aid,  I  turn  the  imploring  eye, 

To  Thee  for  pardon  and  for  safety  fly. 

Supremely  blest,  the  man  who  feels  Thee  near, 

Whose  life  is  governed  by  thy  saving  fear  : 

Thy  love  will  lead  him  in  the  paths  of  peace, 

Thy  life-fraught  presence  all  his  joys  increase  : 

Informed  by  Thee,  he  only  rightly  knows, 

To  enjoy  the  blessings  which  thy  hand  bestows ; 

To  him  more  gay  the  bloom  of  spring  appears, 

A  lovelier  garb  luxuriant  summer  wears  ; 


65 


More  brilliant  scenes  autumnal  fields  display, 
And  more  sublime  the  winter's  stormy  sway. 
From  all  thy  works  his  mind  instruction  draws, 
In  all,  with  rapture,  sees  the  Great  First  Cause ; 
And  when  descending  to  the  oblivious  tomb, 
When  life's  frail  taper  yields  to  deepening  gloom, 
By  no  vain  terror  is  his  mind  distressed 
This  scene  at  changing  for  eternal  rest. 
O'er  death's  dark  gulf  he  casts  serene  his  eye 
To  happier  worlds,  where  joys  immortal  lie  ; 
Where  doubt  and  fear  no  more  the  soul  appal, 
Where  peace  for  ever  reigns,  where  Thou  art  all  in  all. 

Source  of  all  good!  continue  still  to  pour 
Thy  countless  blessings  on  Columbia's  shore ; 
Still  keep,  in  mercy,  from  her  fields  afar 
The  woes,  the  horrors,  of  wide-wasting  war. 
Alike  remote,  preserve  her  favoured  race 
From  proud  aggression  and  submission  base :- 
Teach  them  that  shame  and  ruin  vice  await, 
That  virtue  only  makes  a  nation  great ; 
That  strength  and  peace  will  but  from  union  flow : 
But,  above  all  things,  teach  them  Thee  to  know. 


66 


THE  GENIUS  OF  ******  TO 


At  length,  to  grace  the  sylvan  scene, 
Miranda  from  the  town  removes — 

Display,  ye  fields  !  a  lovelier  green. 
Your  gayest  livery  wear,  ye  groves  ! 

When  wandering  from  thy  native  shore, 
To  sea-girt  Britain's  rocky  coast, 

I  saw  thee,  'mid  th'  Atlantic  roar, 
I  saw  thee  on  the  wild  wave  tossed. 

O'er  Albion's  plains  I  turned  my  eye, 
And  saw  thee  rove  on  Tharnes's  side, 

Where  London  rears  her  turrets  high, 
Great  seat  of  Misery,  Wealth  and  Pride  ! 

And  soon  I  saw  thy  swelling  sails 
Hang  cloud-like  on  the  billowy  main, 

I  saw  them  filled  with  eastern  gales ; 
Columbia  hailed  thee  home  again. 


67 


I  kept  the  wanderer  still  in  view, 

O'er  sea  and  land,  where'er  she  passed, 

For  ******>s  shades,  full  well  I  knew, 
Would  rest  her  weary  feet  at  last. 

And  lo  !  I  see  the  mansion  rise  ! 

Young  Beauty  soon  shall  deck  the  vale, 
The  flowers  unfold  their  varied  dyes, 

And  fragrance  float  on  every  gale  ! 

Here  shalt  thou  oft,  with  ardent  eye, 
Observe  the  ascending  orb  of  day, 

And  when  he  gilds  yon  western  sky, 
Enraptured  catch  the  parting  ray. 

Here  taste  the  pleasures,  pure,  serene, 
That  Nature  to  her  votary  yields, 

The  rural  bench — the  woodland  scene — 
Gay  meads,  and  harvest-waving  fields. 

When  wintry  winds  the  groves  deform, 
And  clouds  obscure  the  cheerless  sky, 

For  shelter  from  the  driving  storm, 
To  thee,  the  houseless  bird  shall  fly. 

The  partridge  shall  thy  bounty  share, 
From  anxious  doubt  and  terror  free ; 

The  redbreast  to  thy  feet  repair, 
And  ask  his  daily  crumbs  of  thee. 


68 

For  this,  when  Sol's  enlivening  power 
Again  shall  deck  the  blooming  May, 

At  evening's  mild  and  tranquil  hour, 
He  '11  treat  thee  with  his  sweetest  lay. 

But  short  thy  stay — (we  spirits  know 
As  well  the  future  as  the  past) — 

To  Penn's  famed  town  thou  soon  shalt  go, 
In  Hymen's  silken  fetters  fast. 


69 


TO ; 


ABOUT   TO   REMOVE    FROM   THE    CITY   TO    RESIDE    ON   A 
FARM  IN  NEW  JERSEY. 

The  rural  mansion 's  reared  at  last, 
The  toil  of  building  almost  past ; 
And  now,  while  winter's  stormy  gale 
Around  you  scatters  snow  and  hail, 
Some  evening  hours  are  spent,  I  guess, 
In  planning  future  happiness — 
Deciding  where  these  shrubs  shall  grow, 
Those  fruits  expand,  or  flow'rets  blow ; 
Where  waving  pines  shall  throw  their  shade, 
And  where  the  verdant  lawn  be  made ; 
Which  fields  for  grain,  and  which  for  clover, 
And  conning  great  and  small  things  over. 
I  love  these  plans — they  keep  the  mind, 

And  body  too,  alert  and  gay, 
For  every  hour  employment  find, 

And  banish  hyp  and  gloom  away. 

Thou  'rt  travelling  now,  my  friend,  the  road 
Which  leads,  I  think,  to  joy's  abode : 
But  though  not  wond'rous  wild  and  rough, 
'T  is  strewed  with  trivial  jolts  enough. 


70 

Though  ills  of  various  kinds  compose 
The  farmer's  long,  long  list  of  woes, 
Thou  soon  wilt  find  the  labouring  race, 
Should  occupy  no  second  place : 
Their  time  and  toil  though  dearly  bought, 
One  half  at  least  are  good  for  nought. 
(In  this,  our  land  of  milk  and  honey, 
Where  earth  is  plentier  far  than  money, 
The  careful  and  industrious  poor 
An  independence  soon  secure.) 
Item — 't  is  spring — the  orchards  bloom, 
And  every  zephyr  breathes  perfume  ; 
'T  is  time  the  Indian  corn  was  planted, 
For  this,  some  extra  help  is  wanted ; 
Away  to  this,  and  t'  other  neighbour, 
To  find  a  man,  to  do  this  labour  : 
And  when  the  work  of  hiring  's  done, 
He  '11  play  three  hours,  and  labour  one. 
Once,  on  a  time,  a  farming  brother, 
Returning  from  some  jaunt  or  other, 
His  train  domestic  thus  addressed, 
To  know  how  business  had  progressed : 
"  Well  Richard — I  've  been  some  time  out, 
What  work  have  you,  pray,  been  about  ?" 

"Helping  Tom,  sir." 
"  'T  is  well,  Dick,  thou  hast  acted  right, 
United  hands  make  labour  light. 
Thomas,  I  see  the  corn  wants  hoeing, 
Pray  what  have  Dick  and  you  been  doing  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

i 


71 


The  grass  is  cut — is  turned — is  dry — 
Dark  clouds  proclaim  that  rain  is  nigh  ; 
But  lo  !  the  wheel  has  lost  a  spoke, 
The  gears  are  rotten,  shelvings  broke ; 
Ere  all  these  things  can  be  amended, 
The  time  is  past,  the  shower 's  descended. 

Thy  neighbour's  herd  of  hungry  swine — 
As  lean  as  Pharaoh's  famished  kine — 
Assail  thy  fence,  let  down  a  bar, 
And  with  thy  wheat  wage  cruel  war  ; 
With  snout  insatiate  tear  the  ground, 
And  spread  wide  devastation  round  ! 

When  the  first  sprouting  grass  is  seen 

To  tinge  the  riv'let's  side  with  green, 

Thy  men  permit  the  cows  to  wander 

From  mead  to  mead,  up  here,  down  yonder ; 

Ruin  the  lots  through  which  they  stray, 

And  lose  their  appetite  for  hay, 

Till  each  dry  bone-betraying  hide 

Seems  Poverty  personified ; 

Their  legs  refuse  to  bear  their  weight, 

And  crows  receive  them,  soon  or  late. 

Through  some  unlucky  youngster's  fault. 
The  pigs  have  broth  too  hot.  and  salt ; 
Hence  measled  shoulders,  scalded  throats, 
And  varied  ills  that  pester  shoats  ; 


72 

Dogs  find  thy  sheep  delicious  picking, 

A  mink  each  night  purloins  a  chicken, 
Rats  share  the  corn,  and  mice  devour  the  bacon, 
The  turkeys,  geese,  and  ducks,  by  two  legg'd  rogues  are  taken. 

And  will  thy  stomach,  friend,  be  quiet 
On  farmer's  plain  substantial  diet ; 
Thy  appetite  look  pleased  and  clever 
At  salt  and  dried,  recurring  ever  ? 
(For  ah  !  expect  not  here  to  meet 
The  varied  fare  of  Market  street.) 
And  canst  thou,  too,  thy  hunger  stay 
With  broken  meat  on  washing-day  ? 
,  If  not— tell  John  to  kill  the  calf, 
And  send  some  brother-farmer  half: 
And  when  he  slaughters  veal  or  sheepr 
In  turn  take  what  he  cannot  keep : 
Get,  for  thy  well-fed,  famished  veal, 
On  which  a  hawk  might  make  a  meal  j 
And  for  thy  tender,  juicy  mutton, 
Such  as  is  fit  no  dish  to  put  on. 

Thus,  anxious  friend,  for  thy  repose, 
I  've  warned  thee  of  some  coming  woesy 
That  during  winter's  blustering  weather, 

While  fenced  from  tempest — calm — secure — 
Thou  might'st  a  stock  of  patience  gather 

For  the  next  year's  expenditure. 


TO  THE  WIFE  OP , 

ON  THE  SAME  OCCASION. 

As  some  pert  scribbler,  doubtless  vain  of  knowing 

Somewhat  of  digging,  ploughing,  harrowing,  hoeing, 

Has  deemed  it  proper  in  this  way  t'  impart 

His  wond'rous  knowledge  in  the  farming  art ; 

I,  too,  would  humbly  offer  to  thy  view 

Of  good  advice  a  homely  scrap  or  two  ; 

Let  then  the  following  precepts,  short  and  plain, 

Though  clad  in  rustic  garb,  attention  gain. 

No  useful  plant  admires  encroaching  weeds, 
No  healthy  chick  from  egg  unsound  proceeds ; 
From  milk  or  cream,  with  garlic  tinctured  strong, 
Sweet  butter  comes  not,  without  churning  long ; 
If  meddling  witches  should  thy  churn  infest, 
To  drive  them  from  it,  what  device  is  best, 
Fain  would  I  tell,  but  fear  to  tell  amiss, 
For  e'en  the  knowing  disagree  in  this — 
To  luckier  hours  the  business  some  adjourn, 
And  some  put — sly — a  dollar  in  the  churn. 
When  night  extends  her  sable  curtains  round, 
Constructing  cheeses  be  thy  maidens  found, 
10 


74 


At  morn's  first  blushes  let  the  work  be  stayed, 
For  cheese  should  always  in  the  dark  be  made ; 
So  flies  no  knowledge  of  th'  affair  will  gain. 
But  the  fair  fabric  firm  for  years  remain. 
On  no  pretence  permit  or  corn  or  hay 
To  take  the  gardener  from  his  charge  away- 
Foul  weeds  will  mark  his  absence  with  delight, 
Spread  their  long  columns  with  resistless  might, 
In  countless  throngs  obnoxious  fill  the  place, 
And  crush  the  eatable  and  floral  race. 

By  long  experience,  rotten  eggs  are  found 
Near  twice  as  long  in  hatching  as  the  sound  ; 
Hence  those  to  whom  the  worth  of  time  is  known, 
Let  their  hens  hover  o'er  the  good  alone : 
To  know  their  state,  the  wise  have  various  ways- 
Some,  patient,  hold  them  to  the  solar  blaze  ; 
Some,  east  and  west  attentive  list'ning  shake  'em, 
And  some,  more  cautious,  think  it  best  to  break  'em. 

When  infant  ducklings  first  delighted  stray 
To  the  loved  stream,  and  cleave  the  liquid  way, 
Observe  their  wanderings  with  a  watchful  eye, 
For  varied  dangers  there  in  ambush  lie  ; 
The  tortoise  finds  them  most  delicious  food, 
And  pikes,  voracious,  soon  will  thin  the  brood ; 
And  oft,  when  homeward  bends  the  waddling  train, 
To  spread  their  plumage  to  the  sun  again, 
Prone  on  their  backs  they  fall,  and  there  must  lie, 
To  sleep  for  ever,  if  no  help  is  nigh. 


75 


But  oh  !  permit  no  cruel  hand  to  lave 

The  new-born  turkey  in  the  chilling  wave, 

Nor,  heedless  of  his  pity-pleading  note, 

Thrust  nauseous  pepper  down  his  burning  throat ; 

Forbear  to  tempt  him  corn  or  cheese  to  eat, 

Let  eggs  and  onions  form  his  savoury  treat: 

When  winged  with  wind,  impetuous  showers  descend, 

The  shivering  urchin  from  the  storm  defend ;      , 

So  shall  he  soon  rove  distant  meadows  over, 

And  guard  from  hostile  insect  tribes  the  clover. 

When  louring  clouds  obscure  the  solar  ray, 
And  eastern  breezes  chill  the  drizzling  day, 
For  washing  house  bid  every  hand  prepare — 
And  let  them  not  the  wholesome  deluge  spare : 
Of  chairs  and  tables  clear  the  wondering  rooms, 
And  call  the  tribes  of  buckets  and  of  brooms ; 
To  some  far  corner,  undisturbed  and  dry, 
From  mops  and  water  bid  thy  husband  fly  : 
Then  o'er  the  floors  let  rushing  waves  extend, 
Roll  through  the  entry,  and  the  stairs  ascend. 
So  will  in  time  the  air  within,  no  doubt, 
Almost  as  pleasant  prove,  as  that  without. 

But  my  best  maxims  trivial  must  appear 

To  one  who  has  such  able  counsel  near ; 

Th'  accomplished  housewife's  various  arts,  full  well 

The  much  loved  mistress  of  *****  *  can  tell. 


76 


AN    ELEGY 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  BURIAL  GROUND  AT 


Earth's  highest  station  ends  in  "  here  he  lies," 
And  "  dust  to  dust"  concludes  her  noblest  song. 

YOUNG. 


In  this  neglected  spot,  where  grazing  kine 

O'er  many  a  mouldering  grave  unconscious  tread, 

And  withering  weeds  and  creeping  brambles  twine 
Their  gloomy  foliage  o'er  promiscuous  dead ; 

Well  pleased  I  rove,  when  Evening,  pensive  power  ! 

O'er  the  dim  landscape  spreads  her  curtain  wide, 
When  Contemplation  rules  the  silent  hour, 

And  bids  each  rude,  tumultuous  thought  subside  : 

To  pore  on  half-seen  graves,  and  sauntering  muse 
On  those  who  here  enjoy  eternal  rest — 

While  scenes,  recalled  to  Memory's  eye,  diffuse 
A  pleasing  sadness  o'er  my  softened  breast. 


77 


Beneath  this  sod,  with  fragrant  herbs  o'ergrown, 
Sleeps  what  ere  while  was  fair  Charissa's  clay, 

Without  or  swelling  turf,  or  humblest  stone, 
To  tell  the  mourner  where  her  relics  lay. 

Cold  lies  that  bosom  in  this  dreary  bed, 
To  all  the  virtues,  all  the  muses,  dear ; 

Closed  are  those  eyes,  for  ever  prompt  to  shed, 
At  misery's  tale,  the  sympathetic  tear. 

Here  let  me  stand,  while  darkness,  hovering  round, 

Obscures  creation,  from  intrusion  free, 
Indulge  my  woes ;  and,  wrapt  in  thought  profound, 

Converse,  Charissa,  with  the  grave  and  thee  : 

While  fond  remembrance  wanders,  unconfined, 
O'er  former  scenes,  and  opens  all  her  store, 

Recalls  each  charm  of  person  and  of  mind, 
And  every  grace  (angelic  maid  !)  runs  o'er. 

What  though  th'  unthinking,  and  the  mirthful  throng, 
All  joyous  down  the  stream  of  folly  borne, 

With  vacant  stare,  unfeeling  pass  along, 

While  the  loud  laugh  betrays  the  latent  scorn  ; 

They  never  knew  Charissa :  bounteous  heaven 
Ne'er  favoured  these  to  taste  of  bliss  like  mine  ! 

To  them  the  envied  joy  was  never  given 
To  gaze  in  transport  on  her  form  divine. 


fe  * 

78 

Hers  jjras  each  soft  attraction,  hers  the  power, 
Each  finer  feeling  of  the  soul  to  move — 

Her  mind  a  garden,  stored  with  every  flower, 
Her  smile  was  beauty,  and  her  eye  was  love. 

No  thirsty  Arab  with  more  joy  could  fly 

To  the  green  vale  where  crystal  fountains  flow, 

Than  thou  to  wipe  the  tear  from  sorrow's  eye, 
And  soothe  the  lone,  dejected  child  of  woe. 

But  soon,  alas  !  each  tender  scene  was  o'er — 
To  distant  worlds  thy  parted  spirit  flew  ; 

Methinks  I  see  thee  sleep  to  wake  no  more, 
And  sweetly  look  a  long — a  last  adieu. 

Thy  various  worth,  sweet  maid !  could  nought  avail 
Disease  and  wo  the  vernal  skies  o'ercast, 

Death  rode  triumphant  on  th'  empoisoned  gale, 
And  the  fair  flow'ret  bowed  beneath  the  blast. 

So  Sol,  emerging  from  the  shades  of  night, 

Through  brightening  ether  pours  the  genial  ray, 

But  soon  dark  clouds  o'er  whelm  the  sinking  light, 
And  louring  tempests  close  the  mournful  day. 

Ah  what  is  man  ?  Proud  monarch  of  a  day, 
An  insect  fluttering  on  the  breeze  of  morn, 

That  waves  its  pinions  in  the  solar  ray, 

A  few  short  hours ;  then  sinks  in  wo  forlorn. 


',;.-*          * 

79 

Around  his  bark  fell  disappointment  storms, 
As  dark  he  sails  down  life's  deceitful  tide : 

Before  him  death  frowns  in  a  thousand  forms, 
And  grief  arid  careussail  on  every  side. 

With  thee,  loved  maid !  I  fondly  hoped  to  share 
Whatever  blessings  gracious  Heaven  might  send, 

With  thee  to  wander  through  this  world  of  care, 
And  in  thy  fostering  arms  my  being  end : 

But  fate  forbade — and  lo !  I  kiss  the  rod, 
And  humbly  join  the  general  song  of  praise, 

To  Him  who  bows  creation  at  his  nod ; 

"  Wise  are  his  judgments,  just  are  all  his  ways." 


80 


EULOGIUM  ON  RUM. 


Arise,  ye  pimpled,  tippling  race,  arise 4 

From  every  town  and  village  tavern  come, 

Show  your  red  noses  and  o'erflowing  eyes, 
And  help  your  poet  chant  the  praise  of  Rum : 

The  cordial  drop,  the  morning  dram  I  sing, 

The  mid-day  toddy,  and  the  evening  sling. 

Hail,  mighty  Rum !  and  by  this  general  name 
I  call  each  species,  whiskey,  gin,  or  brandy : 

(The  kinds  are  various,  but  the  effect  the  same, 
And  so  I  choose  a  name  that  's  short  and  handy 

For,  reader,  know  it  takes  a  deal  of  time 

To  make  a  crooked  word  lie  smooth  in  rhyme.) 

Hail,  mighty  Rum !  thy  song-inspiring  merit 
Is  known  to  many  a  bard  in  these  our  days ; 

Apollo's  drink  they  find  is  void  of  spirit, 
Mere  chicken-broth,  insipid  as  their  lays  ; 

And  pleased  they  'd  give  a  riv'let — aye  a  sea — 

Of  tuneful  water,  for  one  quart  of  thee  ! 


81 

Hail,  mighty  Rum !  how  wondrous  is  thy  power  ! 

Unwarmed  by  thee  how  would  our  spirits  fail. 
When  dark  December  comes,  with  aspect  sour, 

And  sharp  as  razor  blows  the  northern  gale  ; 
And  yet  thou  'rt  grateful  in  that  sultry  day, 
When  raging  Sirius  darts  his  fervid  ray. 

Hail,  mighty  Rum !  to  thee  the  wretched  fly, 
And  find  a  sweet  oblivion  of  their  woes ; 

Locked  in  thy  arms,  as  in  the  grave  they  lie, 
Forget  their  kindred,  and  forgive  their  foes : 

And  Lethe's  stream,  so  much  extolled  by  some 

In  ancient  times,  I  shrewdly  guess,  was  rum. 

Hail,  mighty  Rum  !  what  can  thy  power  withstand  ? 

E'en  lordly  reason  flies  thy  dreadful  face, 
And  health  and  joy,  and  all  the  lovely  band 

Of  social  virtues,  shun  thy  dwelling  place ; 
For  in  whatever  breast  it  rears  its  throne, 
Like  Turkish  monarchs,  rum  must  rule  alone. 

When  our  bold  fathers  crossed  the  Atlantic  wave, 
And  here  arrived  a  weak,  defenceless  band, 

Pray  what  became  of  all  the  tribes  so  brave, 
The  savage  owners  of  this  happy  land  ? 

Were  they  sent  headlong  to  the  realms  below 

By  doom  of  battle  ? — Friend,  I  answer,  no. 


11 


82 


Our  fathers  were  too  wise  to  think  of  war, 

They  knew  the  woodlands  were  not  quickly  passed. 

They  might  have  met  with  many  an  ugly  scar. 
Lost  many  a  foretop,  and  been  beat  at  last ; 

But  Rum,  assisted  by  his  son,  Disease, 

Performed  the  business  with  surprising  ease. 

And  would  our  western  breth'ren  be  less  proud,  or 
In  other  words,  throw  by  the  gun  and  drum— 

For  ducks  and  squirrels  save  their  lead  and  powder. 
And  send  the  tawny  rogues  some  pipes  of  rum, 

I  dare  predict  they  all  would  gladly  suck  it, 

And  every  mother's  son  soon  kick  the  bucket. 

But  lo  !  th'  ingratitude  of  Adam's  race  ! 

Though  all  these  clever  things  to  rum  we  owe, 
Gallons  of  ink  are  squirted  in  his  face, 

And  his  bruised  back  is  banged  with  many  a  blow  ; 
Some  hounds  of  note  have  rung  his  funeral  knell, 
And  every  puppy  joins  the  general  yell. 

So  have  I  seen  (the  simile  is  fine, 

And  wonderfully  pat,  though  rather  old,) 

When  rising  Phoebus  shot  his  rays  benign, 
A  flock  of  sheep  come  skipping  from  the  fold  ; 

Some  restless  sheep  cries  baa,  and  all  the  throng, 

Ewes,  rams,  lambs,  wethers,  bellowing  pour  along. 

But  fear  not,  Rum :  though  fiercely  they  assail, 
And  none  but  I,  thy  bard,  thy  cause  defend. 


83 

Think  not  thy  foes,  though  numerous,  shall  prevail, 

Thy  power  diminish,  or  thy  being  end  ; 
Though  spurned  from  table,  and  the  public  eye, 
In  the  snug  closet  safely  shalt  thou  lie. 

And  oft  when  Sol's  proud  chariot  quits  the  sky, 
And  humbler  Cynthia  mounts  her  one-horse  chair, 

To  that  snug  closet  shall  thy  votary  fly, 
And,  wrapt  in  darkness,  keep  his  orgies  there ; 

Lift  the  full  bottle  joyous  to  his  head, 

Then,  great  as  Caesar,  reel  sublime  to  bed. 


84 


THE    BEE. 


Ah!  see  where,  robb'd  and  murder'd  in  that  pit, 
Lies  the  still  heaving  hive ! — THOMSON. 


As  late  I  walked  to  enjoy  that  grateful  hour 
When  early  breezes  greet  the  rising  day, 

A  bee  before  me  roved  from  flower  to  flower, 
And  thus  she  sadly  said,  or  seemed  to  say : 

Ah  !  what  will  all  this  toil  and  care  avail- 
Why  do  I  thus  o'er  hill  and  valley  roam  ?    . 

And  wearied  bear,  through  many  an  adverse  gale. 
The  spoil  nectareous  to  my  distant  home  ? 

When  the  tall  maple  blossom'd — pride  of  trees — 
My  toil  began  with  the  first  smiles  of  spring ; 

And  when  the  buckwheat  scented  every  breeze, 
Departing  summer  heard  my  restless  wing. 

In  vain,  alas !  for  when  our  work  is  o'er, 
And  cells  o'erflowing,  all  our 'cares  repay, 

Sulphureous  flames,  snatched  from  th'  infernal  shore, 
To  one  lone  grave  shall  sweep  our  tribe  away. 


85 


And  must  we  toil  through  summer's  sultry  hours, 
And  death,  a  cruel  death,  be  our  reward  ? 

Tell,  if  thou  canst,  what  crime,  what  fault  of  ours, 
Tyrannic  man,  deserves  a  fate  so  hard. 

For  us  no  creatures  are  condemned  to  bleed, 
And  lift  in  vain  the  pity-asking  eye  ; 

The  flow'rets  scattered  o'er  the  verdant  mead, 
And  dews  of  heaven,  our  guiltless  feast  supply. 

'Tis  true,  protection  thy  warm  hives  afford, 
For  which  a  portion  of  our  wealth  be  thine ; 

With  liberal  hand  take  of  our  luscious  hoard- 
Spare,  spare  our  lives  !  our  treasures  we  resign. 

Oh  !  may  the  man  who,  deaf  to  pity's  call, 
Condemns  us,  helpless,  to  devouring  flame, 

Find  all  his  honey  turned  to  bitterest  gall, 
While  wax  impure  provokes  his  frugal  dame. 

If  e'er  soft  slumber  seal  his  weary  eyes, 

When  night  and  silence  hold  their  gloomy  sway, 

May  glaring  ghosts  of  murdered  bees  arise, 
Buzz  round  his  bed,  and  frighten  sleep  away. 

But  thou  who  dost  our  humble  race  befriend, 

May  smiling  peace  for  ever  glad  thy  breast- 
May  balmy  sleep,  unsought,  thy  couch  attend, 
And  grateful  visions  lull  thy  soul  to  rest. 


MARGERY   GRAY; 


OR,    THE    WITCH    UNMASKED. 

Why  stands  that  old  cottage,  so  lonely  and  drear 
That  it  fills  the  beholder  with  gloom  and  affright  1 

And  what  is  the  reason  that  none  can  go  near 

The  door  of  that  hut,  without  shivering,  at  night  ? 

To  see  the  old  woman  who  lives  there  alone, 

One  would  think  she  could  hardly  do  any  great  harm ; 

Why,  her  body  is  shriveled  to  mere  skin  and  bone, 
And  scarcely  more  thick  than  a  broomstick  her  arm ! 

The  cottage  is  small,  but  sufficient  to  hold 

A  fire-place,  table,  and  dresser,  and  bed ; 
The  cracks,  filled  with  mud,  admit  scarce  any  cold, 

And  a  few  cedar  slabs  stop  the  leaks  over  head  : 

And  it 's  well 't  is  so  tight — for  now  not  a  tool 
Would  be  handled  by  any  to  mend  her  abode ; 

And  though  by  the  door  is  the  best  way  to  school . 
The  master  and  children  all  go  the  high  road. 


87 


Yet  once  they  delighted  to  travel  that  way, 

And  would  beg  for  permission,  whene'er  they  went  by, 

To  take  something  good  to  old  Margery  Gray— 
A  few  links  of  sausage,  or  piece  of  mince-pie. 

She  gathers  old  stumps  in  the  summer  for  fuel, 

And  no  one  has  stopped  her,  as  yet,  that  I  've  heard ; 

Indeed,  to  prevent  her  were  foolishly  cruel, 
For  every  one  wishes  his  fields  to  be  cleared. 

Time  was  she  had  pine-knots  to  last  her  all  winter — 
They  served  her  to  spin  and  to  knit  by  at  night ; 

But  now,  not  a  creature  would  bring  her  a  splinter, 
If  they  knew  she  was  dying  for  want  of  a  light. 

There  's  not  the  least  shelter,  as  any  can  tell, 

To  keep  from  her  window  the  snow  and  the  hail ; 

And  even  the  peach  tree,  that  grew  by  the  well, 
Is  dead,  and  its  withered  limbs  sigh  in  the  gale. 

It  is  true,  that,  to  fence  her  poor  cow  from  the  weather,. 

She  took  out  her  hatchet  one  bitter  cold  day, 
And  cut  some  pine  bushes,  and  piled  them  together 

By  the  side  of  her  little  coarse  bundle  of  hay  ; 

Her  fence,  by  the  wind  and  by  time,  is  o'erthrown — 
Indeed,  there  is  hardly  a  rail  on  the  place ; 

And  the  garden,  with  nettles  and  mullens  o'ergrown, 
Looks  as  dull  and  as  cheerless  as  Margery's  face, 


But  it  did  not  look  thus  in  the  days  of  her  prime— 
The  fence  was  in  order,  the  garden  was  neat ; 

She  had  chamomile,  lavender,  hyssop,  and  thyme, 
And  more  sage  than  she  wanted  to  season  her  meat : 

And  she  dried  a  good  deal,  and  the  neighbours  all  round 
Would  send  to  her  cottage,  if  any  were  ill ; 

She  was  skilled  in  the  nature  of  herbs,  and  they  found 
That  she  gave  her  assistance  with  hearty  good  will. 

It  was  owned,  by  the  people  that  happened  to  pass, 
That  her  room  was  as  cleanly  as  cleanly  could  be — 

You  might  put  on  your  cap  by  her  pewter  and  brass, 
And  her  bed  was  as  decent  as  most  that  you  '11  see  ; 

But  their  present  condition  no  mortal  can  tell, 
For  none  are  so  simple  to  darken  her  door  ; 

No,  no  ! — all  the  neighbours  remember  too  well 
The  horrible  tale  of  the  blood  on  the  floor. 

It  was  midnight,  and  cold  did  the  bitter  wind  blow, 
And  drove  in  fierce  eddies  the  snow  and  the  hail. 

When  a  stranger  to  Margery's  cottage  came  slow — 
Like  a  ghost  he  seemed  troubled,  was  silent  and  pale. 

Long  beat  by  the  tempest,  so  chilled  and  so  tired. 

That  his  feet  and  his  fingers  he  hardly  could  use ; 
To  warm  them  a  little  was  all  he  desired— 

So  trifling  a  favour  could  any  refuse  ? 


89 


The  air  was  so  piercing,  that  people  that  night, 

In  the  tightest  of  houses  could  scarcely  keep  warm ; 

And  the  neighbours  came  over,  as  soon  as  't  was  light, 
To  enquire  how  old  Margery  fared  in  the  storm. 

But  how  did  astonishment  bristle  their  hair, 

When  blood  they  saw  sprinkled  profusely  around ; 

The  legs  of  the  stranger,  all  mangled,  were  there, 
But  the  rest  of  his  body  was  not  to  be  found. 

The  blood  of  the  traveller  was  every  where  thrown — 
On  the  hearth,  on  the  floor,  on  the  table  it  lay : 

And  to  every  one  there  it  was  very  well  known 
Not  a  creature  was  with  him  but  Margery  Gray. 

And  none  could  imagine  the  man  would  admire 
(If  left  to  pursue  what  appeared  to  him  right) 

The  notion  of  leaving  his  legs  by  the  fire, 

And  traveling  on  stumps  such  a  terrible  night. 

Till  that  night  of  horror  old  Margery  never 

Was  known  to  discover  a  relish  for  sin  ; 
But  now  she  is  hatching  some  mischief  for  ever— 

'T  is  hard  to  give  over  when  once  we  begin. 

She  meazles  the  swine,  and  she  pesters  the  cattle, 
She  fly-blows  the  meat,  and  the  harvest  she  blights  ; 

In  the  midst  of  a  tempest,  at  windows  she  '11  rattle, 
And  keeps  her  sick  neighbours  from  sleeping  at  nights, 
12 


90 


Thus  from  gossip  to  gossip,  the  story  goes  round, 
And  the  list  of  her  crimes  is  enlarged  every  day — 

But  the  best  of  the  bunch  may  be  "glad  if  they  're  found 
As  clear  of  all  evil  as  Margery  Gray. 

The  stranger  who  strayed  to  her  humble  abode 
Had  a  friend  who  came  with  him  a  part  of  the  way, 

But  the  cold  was  so  piercing,  he  froze  on  the  road, 
His  bones  by  the  side  of  the  laurel-bush  lay. 

Now  the  boots  he  h,ad  on  were  too  good  to  be  lost, 
But  to  get  them  was  far  from  a  matter  of  ease, 

For  the  leather  was  stiffened  to  horn  by  the  frost, 
So  he  took  off  the  legs  of  his  friend  by  the  knees. 

In  Margery's  cottage  the  business  of  thawing 
The  leather  and  legs  did  the  stranger  begin, 

While  Margery  slumbered — and,  after  much  drawing, 
Succeeded  in  getting  the  legs  from  within. 

This  object  attained,  he  would  carry  no  further 
A  useless  iricumbrance,  but  left  them  to  raise 

Doubt,  fear  and  suspicion  of  witchcraft  and  murther, 
And  embitter  the  remnant  of  Margery's  days. 

Ye  travellers  all !  when  about  to  do  aught 

That  may  multiply  wo  where  you  happen  to  stay, 

Make  a  pause,  and  bestow,  I  beseech  you,  a  thought 
On  the  legs  that  were  left  with  old  Margery  Gray. 


91 


COURTSHIP. 


ADDRESSED    TO    A    FEMALE    FRIEND. 

• 

I  Ve  had  a  thought  or  two  of  late, 

Respecting  courtship,  and  I  seem  inclined 
To  let  thee  know  a  little  of  my  mind 

About  that  awkward,  purgatorial  state. 

If,  haply  anxious  to  obtain  a  wife. 

Some  seeking  youth  should  try  thy  hand  to  gain, 
I  know  thou  wouldst  not  trifle  with  his  pain, 

Nor  waste  in  courtship  half  the  morn  of  life. 

• 

How  blest  mankind  if  all  the  race  were  so, 
But  ah  !  a  different  spirit  rules  the  sex : 
By  nature  pitiless,  and  prone  to  vex 

Their  hapless  captives  with  a  world  of  wo. 

What  numerous  years  of  toil,  fatigue  and  wo, 

What  doubt  and  fear — what  risk  of  limbs  and  life, 
By  land  and  water,  to  obtain  a  wife, 

Some  poor  afflicted  creatures  undergo. 


92 


An  aching  heart,  with  brazen  front  to  hide, 
With  outward  smiles  to  veil  internal  wo, 
With  stammering  tongue  propound  the  yes  or  no ! 

To  do  all  this  and  more — and  be  denied  ! 

And  lo !  if  once  denied,  though  ne'er  so  clever, 
Wide  spreads  the  rumour  of  the  foul  defeat, 
In  council  dire  the  female  despots  meet, 

And  doom  the  wretch  to  singleness  for  ever. 

In  amorous  ditty  .if  he  mourn  his  doom, 
The  luckless  scrawl  produced  in  evil  hour, 
Proof  of  his  folly  and  the  fair  one's  power, 

Is  borne  in  triumph  round  the  tittering  room. 

I  would  not  wish  my  notions  to  be  known, 
But  truly  I  have  thought,  the  ills  that  wait 
On  courtship,  are  so  numerous  and  so  great, 

'T  is  better  far  to  let  the  thing  alone. 


93 


A  MORNING  HYMN. 

* 
Arise,  my  soul !  with  rapture  rise, 

.     And  filled  with  love  and  fear,  adore 
The  awful  sov'reign  of  the  skies, 

Whose  mercy  lends  me  one  day  more. 

And  may  this  day,  indulgent  Power  ! 

Not  idly  pass,  nor  fruitless  be  ; 
But,  may  each  swiftly-flying  hour 

Advance  my  soul  more  nigh  to  thee. 

But  can  it  be  that  Power  divine, 

Whose  throne  is  light's  unbounded  blaze, 
While  countless  worlds,  and  angels  join 

To  swell  the  glorious  song  of  praise, 

^ 
Will  deign  to  lend  a  favouring  ear, 

When  I,  poor  abject  mortal,  pray  ? 
Yes,  boundless  Goodness,  he  will  hear, 

Nor  cast  the  meanest  wretch  away. 

Then  let  me  serve  thee,  all  my  days, 
And  may  my  zeal  with  years  increase ; 

For,  pleasant,  Lord,  are  all  thy  ways, 
And  all  thy  paths  are  paths  of  peace. 


*  .;' 


*& 

Bt^ 

•**• 

94 


SOME'ACCOUNT  OP  MY  NEIGHBOUR  EPHRAIM.* 

No.  I. 

I  have  thought  sometimes,  that  the  world  would  be  none 
the  worse,  if  it  knew  a  little  of  my  old  neighbour  Ephraim 
Heartfree,  his  notions  of  farming,  and  his  notions  about 
some  other  matters ;  and  I  may  possibly,  if  nothing  more 
important  engages  my  attention,  endeavour  to  make  the 
public  somewhat  acquainted  with  him  and  his  family. 
But  let  no  one  be  startled  at  this  intimation ;  my  tediousness 
shall  be  bestowed  in  no  overwhelming  portions  •  I  am  not 
disposed  to  fatigue  myself  and  annoy  my  readers  with  a 
tiresome  tissue  of  long-winded  essays ;  my  communications 

shall  be  short,  and 

« 

"  Like  angels'  visits,  few,  and  far  between." 


I  have  myself,  too  often,  shrunk  from  the  appalling- 
countenance  of  a  dissertation  of  three  or  four  columns,  to 
offend  in  the  same  sort ;  and  in  thus  attempting  to  retail 
some  scraps  of  the  practices  and  opinions  of  my  old  friend, 
I  have  no  apprehension  of  offending  him ;  he  will  not 

*  These  essays  were  written  for  the  "  Rural  Visiter,"  a  small  literary  paper 
then  published  weekly  in  Burlington. 


rf 


95 

*  %l 

mistake  my  motive,  though  very  probably,  as  he  lights  his 

evening  pipe  with  my  lucubrations,  he  may  wish  with  a 
benevolent  smile  that  I  had  better  business. 

To  begin  then  in  due  biographical  order,  be  it  known 
that  Ephraim  Heartfree  was^  born,  when  and  where,  is  of 
no  importance  to  this  history :  of  his  education  I  shall  say 
little;  it  is  not  improbable  that,  according  to  a  laudable 
custom,  still  prevalent  in  some  parts  of  our  country,  he 
was  taught  the  rudiments  of  the  English  language  by  some 
itinerant  pedagogue,  who  would  work  for  little,  and  being 
rendered  by  idleness  and  intemperance  unfit  for  any  thing 
else,  is  wisely  intrusted  with  the  business  of  forming  the 
morals  and  the  manners  of  the  rising  generation.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  certain  it  is  that  he  learned  to  read,  and  this 
foundation  being  laid,  the  superstructure  was  his  own 
work. 

"  For  know,  young  Ephraim  was  no  vulgar  boy — 
Deep  thought  oft  seemed  to  fix  his  infant  eye." 

'•'••*       ''  - 
Happily  he  had  early  acquired  a  fondness  for  reading, 

which  the  kindness  of  a  few  friends  enabled  him  to  gratify 
to  some  extent ;  and  this  taste,  while  it  made  him  familiar 
with  the  illustrious  dead,  preserved  him  in  great  measure 
from  the  contamination  of  the  worthless  living :  holding  in 
supreme  contempt  the  character  of  that  important  animal 
an  idle  gentleman,  he  had  a  notion  that  his  usefulness  and 
respectability  would  be  in  no  degree  diminished  by  a 
knowledge  of  several  mechanical  operations ;  he  became 


•*  ^  *  •  * 

•*•.**"  * 


96 


therefore  a  tolerable  worker  in  metals :  was  by  no  means  a 
contemptible  harness-maker,  and  has  often  been  heard  to 
say  that  he  considered  himself  a  carpenter  of  no  small 
promise.  Although  destined  to  a  country  life,  he  could 
perceive^no  necessary  connection  between  rural  employ 
ment  and  rusticity  of  manners ;  nor  because  it  became 
him  sometimes  to  speak  of  oxen,  could  he  see  the  propriety 
of  being  able  to  speak  of  nothing  else  ;  but  his  notions  on 
these,  and  various  other  matters,  will  more  fully  appear  in 
the  course  of  our  narrative. 

On  the  death  of  his  father,  he  became  possessed  of  a 
farm  of  moderate  extent,  which,  notwithstanding  it  had 
produced  only  Indian  corn,  rye  and  mullens,  in  regular 
succession  time  out  of  mind,  agreeably  to  a  commendable 
practice  still  sufficiently  followed,  had  somehow  become 
the  poorest  of  the  poor ;  his  out-buildings  seemed  ready  to 
take  their  departure  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  and  the 
broken  windows  of  his  almost  roofless  mansion  exhibited  a 
delectable  assemblage  of  weather-beaten  hats  and  worn-out 
indispensables.  A  few  evenings  after  he  was  settled  in 
his  new  abode,  he  took  a  solitary  walk  around  his  little 
territory:  poverty  reigned  throughout  in  all  its  dreariness  ; 
his  fences  had  tumbled  to  ruin  in  every  direction,  no  living 
thing  disturbed  the  profound  solitude  of  his  naked  fields, 
save  a  half-starved  horse,  which  the  mercy  of  his  owner 
had  turned  out  to  die,  in  requital  of  a  life  of  labour  ;  while 
a  group  of  famished  vultures,  on;  a  blasted  oak,  eyed  his 
feeble  attempts  to  prolong  existence  with  manifest  symp 
toms  of  impatience.  The  winds  of  December  swept 


,    *f 


97  * 

fearfully  over  the  hill,  and  famine  and  desolation  howling  in 
the  blast,  seemed  to  claim  the  region  for  their  own— Welt: 
did  he  not  turn  in  utter  dismay  from  the  rueful  prospect? 
did  he  riot  hasten  to  barter  his  hopeful  birthright  for  a 
mess  of  pottage,  and  saddle  his  ass  and  move  off  in  search 
of  a  fool's  paradise  in  the  west, 

Where  trees  move  off,  without  the  pains  of  hauling, 
And  crops  of  wheat  come,  ready  thresh'd,  for  calling? 


No.  II. 

IP 

*  . 

No,  he  did  not,  as  some  knowing  ones  have  done  before 
and  since,  lose  himself  in  a  wilderness ;  he  had  a  notion 
that  it  would  require  less  labour  to  resuscitate  his  worn-out 
farm  tjian  to  clear  a  new  one  in  the  forest,  and  that  a 
moderate  crop,  with  a  good  market  at  his  door,  was  pre 
ferable  to  an  abundant  one  with  no  market  at  all.  He 
thought,  moreover,  that  the  comforts  of  a  tolerably  good 
neighbourhood,  of  friendly  intercourse,  of  social  worship, 
of  convenient  schools,  of  medical  assistance  in  case  of  any 
of  the  numberless  casualties  which  "flesh  is  heir  to," 
were  not  to  be  lightly  relinquished.  I  shall  not  attempt  a 
minute  detail  of  his  mode  of  farming — of  that  judicious, 
quiet,  and  persevering  management,  which,  in  the  course 
13 


98 


of  a  few  days,  made  his  little  territory,  compared  with  the 
surrounding  scenery,  appear  like 

"  A  spot  of  azure  in  a  gloomy  sky, 
Or  sunny  island  in  a  stormy  sea." 

Such  a  detail  would  be  altogether  useless  to  the  generality 
of  readers,  who  are  abundantly  too  well  informed  to  need 
it ;  and  the  very  few  to  whom  it  might  be  useful,  are  not 
in  the  habit  of  perusing  works  of  this  kind,  or  indeed  any 
thing  else.  One  of  his  first  employments,  of  course,  was 
to  put  his  buildings  in  a  tolerable  state  of  repair;  not  merely 
a  dwelling  for  himself,  but  his  stables,  his  cattle,  sheep,  pig, 
and  poultry  houses ;  he  had  no  notion  of  enjoying  the 
comforts  of  a  warm  room,  while  the  animals  that  looked 
up  to  him  for  protection  were  exposed  to  the  "peltings  of 
the  pitiless  storm ;"  but  wlnen  the  winds  of  winter  whistled 
around  his  dwelling,  and  the  rain  descended  in  torrents  on 
his  roof,  he  felt  no  small  pleasure  in  reflecting  that  every 
living  thing  dependant  upon  him  was  comfortably  shel 
tered  ;  he  could  then,  seated  with  his  happy  family  around 
a  cheerful  fire, 

"  Smile  at  the  tempest  and  enjoy  the  storm." 

And  this  humanity  and  kind  attention  to  the  brute  creation 
was  no  transient  or  momentary  impulse,  but  has  remained 
with  him  to  the  present-day ;  his  teams  are  never  over 
worked,  and  every  creature  invariably  has  its  food  in  proper 
season,  and  in  sufficient  quantity ;  his  horses,  after  labour- 


99 


ing  through  the  day,  are  never  galloped  by  a  graceless 
son,  or  worthless  domestic,  to  cough  half  the  night  at  the 
door  of  some  detestable  whiskey-shop,  and  his  cattle  never 
go  supperless  to  bed,  because  their  owner,  after,  wasting 
the  day  at  some  insignificant  vendue  or  beggarly  horse-race, 
comes  home  too  much  of  a  beast  himself  to  feed  them  ;— 
too  much  of  a  beast,  did  I  say  ?  I  retract  the  expression ; 
I  would  not  insult  a  sober  beast  by  a  comparison  with 
many  of  the  tippling  two-legged  animals  scattered  up  and 
down,  a  disgrace  to  the  country,  and  a  loathsome  burden 
to  all  who  are  so  unhappy  as  to  be  connected  with  them. 
His  boys  do  their  duty— because,  in  the  first  place,  he 
made  it  a  rule  to  see  them  do  it;  and  after  a  time  they 
might  be  trusted  alone,  for  good  habits  may  be  acquired  as 
well  as  evil  ones. 

The  transformation  of  a  gloomy  desert  into  a  fruitful 
field  is  not  the  work  of  a  day ;  but  the  progress  of  my  friend 
in  this  pleasing  task  has  been  uncommonly  rapid ;  deter 
mined  never  to  plough  more  land  than  he  could  thoroughly 
manure,  the  increase  of  this  all  important  article  was  a 
primary  object,  and  every  thing  suitable  for  the  purpose 
was  carefully  conveyed  to  the  barn-yard  ;  no  weeds  were 
suffered  to  run  to  seed  and  wither  away  in  his  fields,  thus 
exhausting  the  soil  and  perpetuating  a  nuisance ;  his  grain 
was  uniformly  cut  with  the  cradle,  instead  of  the  sickle, 
thus  gathering  double  the  quantity  of  straw;  and  his  corn 
stalks,  instead  of  remaining  abroad  throughout  the  winter, 
a  dreary  and  disgusting  prospect,  added  largely  to  the  fer 
tilising  mixture ;  gwss  was  sedulously  cultivated,  which 


100 

enabled  him  gradually  to  enlarge  his  stock ;  and  from  these 
various  sources,  with  the  addition,  occasionally,  of  the 
scourings  of  ditches  and  the  parings  of  old  headlands,  his 
heaps  of  compost  annually  increased  in  magnitude ;  and 
though,  in  retrospection,  he  is  not  dissatisfied  with  the 
course  he  has  pursued,  yet  so  willing  is  he  to  receive 
instruction,  and  so  open  to  conviction,  that  he  thinks  his 
wealth  would  have  been  nearly  doubled,  had  he  known  at 
the  commencement  of  his  agricultural  career  the  value  of 
the  ruta  baga,  and  that  the  country  is  under  no  small 
obligation  to  W.  Cobbett,  for  his  endeavours  to  turn  the 
attention  of  American  farmers  to  this  useful  root.  In 
consequence  of  avoiding  to  harass  himself  and  his  teams, 
by  ^cultivating  unproductive  soil,  he  has  had  leisure  to 
attend  to  various  improvements,  among  which  the  most 
important,  perhaps,  was  planting  a  worn  out  tract  of  eighty 
or  an  hundred  acres  on  the  most  bleak  and  exposed  part  of 
his  estate  with  chesnuts,  which,  having  been  carefully 
protected  while  young  from  the  depredations  of  cattle, 
have  grown  with  uncommon  luxuriance  and  beauty,  and 
now  form  a  magnificent  forest,  amidst  whose  lofty  tops  and 
intermingling  arms  the  solemn  murmur  of  the  evening 
breeze  seems  to  the  wanderer  beneath,  like 

"  The  dash  of  ocean,  on  his  winding  shore." 

From  a  rustic  seat,  placed  in  a  sequestered  corner  of  this 
wilderness  of  shade,  but  which  nevertheless  commands  a 
vie\fr  of  the  whole  farm,  I  have  frequently  admired  the 
beauty  of  the  prospect,  the  delightful  intermixture  of  shade 


101 

and  sunshine,  the  vivid  verdure  of  the  watered  meadow, 
and  the  golden  tints  of  the  ripening  harvest;  the  refreshing 
covering  of  green — 

"  Green,  smiling  nature's  universal  robe," 

is  no  where  broken,  except  unavoidably  by  the  plough  ;  no 
herds  of  hungry  unrung  swine  are  suffered  to  deform  the 
surface,  and  destroy  more  grass  in  an  hour  than  would 
have  served  to  pasture  them  half  a  summer ;  and  the 
pleasing  appearance  of  the  landscape  has  been  not  a  little 
heightened  by  the  neatness  every  where  conspicuous  ;  for 
although  my  friend,  had  he  been  silly  enough  to  wish  it, 
could  not  afford  to  waste  his  time  and  money  in  frivolously 
ornamenting  his  grounds,  yet  he  had  a  notion  that  every 
thing  offensive  might  as  well  be  kept  in  the  back  ground, 
and  that  his  fences  and  his  out-buildings  would  be  none 
the  worse  for  being  arranged  as  tastefully  as  convenience 
would  permit ;  his  orchard  is  placed  in  such  a  situation  as 
to  form  a  most  agreeable  object,  whether  clothed  in  vernal 
beauty,  or  bending  beneath  its  autumnal  burthen,  while 
an  almost  impervious  hedge  of  thriving  cedars,  on  the 
northern  frontier,  seems  to  bid  defiance  to  the  assailing 
tempest.  About  the  middle  of  his  little  domain,  and  near 
a  lively,  never-failing  stream  of  water,  which  his  ingenuity 
has  converted  into  various  purposes  of  utility  and  beauty, 
stands  the  modest  mansion ;  and  here,  if  honest  Ephraim 
has  made  a  few  humble  attempts  at  embellishment,  it  has 
been  done  full  as  much,  as  Columella  recommends,  "  to 
allure  the  wife  to  take  delight  therein,"  as  to  gratify  any 
inclination  of  his  own. 


102 


No.  Ill, 

Ezekiel,  the  second  son  of  my  worthy  friend  Ephraim, 
is  a  great  favourite  of  mine ;  whether  the  mildness  and 
diffidence  with  which  he  advances  his  opinions  of  men 
and  things,  or  the  commendable  deference  and  respectful 
attention  with  which  he  listens  to  my  own  weighty  and 
matured  observations,  has  had  more  effect  in  producing 
this  favourable  sentiment,  I  shall  not  determine  ;  but 
certain  it  is  that  he  is  a  docile,  pleasant  youth,  and  we 
have  together  much  agreeable,  and  to  him,  doubtless, 
profitable  discourse ;  because,  when  we  happen  to  differ  in 
sentiment,  which  however  is  not  often  the  case,  I  com 
monly  take  the  trouble  to  bestow  more  or  less  labour  upon 
him  in  order  to  set  him  right ;  though  it  must  be  confessed 
that  on  some  of  these  occasions,  when  I  have  dilated  a 
little  more  than  usual,  and  taking  silence  for  the  acqui 
escence  of  conviction,  have  brought  my  argument  triumph 
antly  to  a  close,  and  have  turned  to  my  companion  to 
observe  more  narrowly  the  effect  of  my  eloquence,  I  have 
found  him  asleep  ;  but  in  general,  he  is  an  excellent  hearer, 
of  most  convenient  taciturnity,  and  invincible  patience- 
qualifications  these,  the  value  of  which  those  can  only 
appreciate  who,  like  myself,  are  sometimes  given  to  talk, 
perhaps,  a  little  more  than  their  share.  Entertaining  no 
desire  to  accumulate  unnecessary  wealth,  and  panting  for 
no  distinction,  he  early  determined  never  to  exchange  the 
healthy  breezes  of  his  native  hills  and  valleys  for  the 


103 

|B 

pestilential  breath-polluted  atmosphere  of  the  city;  and 
the  character  of  a  plain,  honest,  undesigning  cultivator  of 
the  earth,  for  that  of  a  smart,  shifty,  smirking  haberdasher 
of  small  wares  ;  and  he  contemplates  with  mingled  sensa 
tions  of  pity  and  wonder,  the  deplorable  delusion  which 
leads  so  many  thousands  from  the  salutary  labours  and 
tranquil  enjoyments  of  the  country,  to  the  harassing  bustle 
of  the  crowded  riiart, 

"  Where  with  like  haste  through  various  ways  they  run, 
Some  to  undo,  and  some  to  be  undone." 

Prom  occasional  visits  to  the  scenes  of  commercial  activity, 
and  fashionable  frivolity,  from  the  confused,  distracting 
hum  of  an  infatuated  multitude  of  immortal  beings,  scram 
bling  with  feverish  anxiety  for  the  momentary  possession  of 
a  needless  portion  of  evanescent  dust,  he  returns  with  ever 
new  delight  to  his  rural  employments,  to  the  serene  repose 
of  his  quiet  home,  and  to  all 

"  The  charms  which  nature  to  her  votary  yields." 

In  spring,  the  delightful  season  of  light,  and  life,  and  joy, 
how  does  his  bosom  glow  with  rapturous  adoration  of  that 
beneficent  Power,  which,  while  silently  preparing  for  the 
nourishment  of  all  that  live,  spreads  abroad,  with  inex 
haustible  profusion,  the  treasures  of  sweetness,  and  the 
splendour  of  beauty.  With  what  pensive  pleasure  does  he 
gaze  upon  the  autumnal  colouring  of  the  variegated  forest ! 
with  what  sublime  emotion  listen  to  the  storms  of  winter ! 


104 

how  often,  when  contemplating  the  harmonious  march  of 
the  seasons,  hi 
immortal  poet, 


the  seasons,  has  he  exclaimed,  in  the  language  of  their 


"  These,  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father,  these 
.Are  but  the  vailed  God.     The  rolling  year 
Is  full  of  thee !" 

In  early  youth  he  was  rather  a  keen  sportsman,  but  soon 
"  Consideration,  like  an  angel  came," 

and  convinced  him  that  the  pleasure  of  beholding  the 
playful  security  and  happiness  of  God's  creatures,  infinitely 
overbalanced  any  enjoyed  in  their  murderous  pursuit ;  and 
he  has  long  looked  upon  the  wanton  destruction  of  harm 
less  life,  as  nearly  allied  to  crime  of  no  light  complexion  ; 
although  he  makes  no  pretension  to  extraordinary  huma 
nity  or  delicacy  of  feeling,  yet  he  would  not  knowingly 
crush  the  humblest  insect  that  crawls  across  his  path, 
much  less  would  he  endeavour  to  obtain  the  reputation  of  a 
paltry  dabbler  in  natural  science,  by  impaling,  with  savage 
industry,  scores  of  wretched  bugs  and  butterflies.  In 
consequence  of  a  rather  delicate  state  of  health,  he  has  not 
been  so  constantly  and  exclusively  employed  in  agricul 
tural  pursuits  as  his  father  and  elder  brother,  and  has 
therefore  had  more  time  to  cultivate,  in  some  measure,  a 
literary  turn  ;  and  although  his  opportunities  and  acquire 
ments  have  been  very  circumscribed,  yet  his  hours  of 
leisure  have  not  been  altogether  unimproved :  being  sup 
posed  the  best  qualified  for  the  office,  it  generally  falls  to 


105 


his  lot  to  read  aloud  some  instructive  author,  or  the 
magazines  and  papers  of  the  day,  during  the  winter 
evenings,  while  the  family  are  quietly  employed  in  the 
various  occupations  incident  to  the  season,  around  a 
comfortable  fire  :  on  these  occasions  I  frequently  make  one 
of  the  company,  an  arm-chair  being  always  placed  in  the 
chimney-corner,  for  my  accommodation ;  and  am  often 
very  well  satisfied  with  my  entertainment,  more  especially 
whenever  any  of  my  own  little  pieces  happen  to  be  recited. 
Although  on  the  most  intimate  footing  in  the  family,  it 
was  some  time  before  I  discovered  that  he  occasionally 
amused  himself  by  committing  to  paper  his  thoughts  on 
various  subjects :  these  effusions,  crude  and  disjointed, 
were  generally  committed  to  the  flames  as  soon  as  read. 
His  sister,  however,  with  a  very  pardonable  partiality,  has 
preserved  copies  of  a  few  pieces,  both  in  prose  and  verse, 
some  of  which  I  may,  perhaps,  present  to  my  readers.  The 
following  lines  from  amongst  them,  I  select  for  the  conclu 
sion  of  the  present  number,  not  because  there  is  any  thing 
new  in  the  thought,  or  neat  in  the  expression,  but  as  they 
show,  a  little,  the  general  temper  of  his  mind. 


RELIGION. 

Oh !  wide  they  wander  from  the  path  of  truth, 
Who  paint  Religion  with  a  brow  of  gloom ; 

Her  step  is  buoyant  with  unfading  youth, 
Her  features  radiant  with  immortal  bloom. 

14 


106 


In  life's  gay  morning,  when  the  crimson  tide 
Of  pleasure  dances  through  each  burning  vein. 

She  leads,  with  guardian  care,  her  charge  aside, 
From  the  broad  passage  to  undying  pain. 

And  when  the  fleeting  joys  of  time  are  past, 
And  dark  despondence  on  the  spirit  preys ; 

She  bids,  with  holy  hope,  the  sufferer  cast, 
To  brighter  regions,  his  confiding  gaze. 

From  slavish  fears — from  low  debasing  cares, 

'T  is  hers  alone  the  sinking  soul  to  save ; 
For  her  its  sweetest  smile  creation  wears, 

For  her  no  terror  has  the  frowning  grave. 

• 
No  ;  should  this  scene  in  headlong  ruin  close, 

Each  shattered  planet  from  its  orbit  move, 
She  would  not  tremble,  for  full  well  she  knows 

The  arm  is  near  her  of  unbounded  Love. 


107 


No.  IV. 

Eminently  fortunate  in  the  matrimonial  lottery,  Ephraim 
can  testify,  from  his  own  happy  experience,  that  "  whoso 
findeth  a  wife,  findeth  a  good  thing :"  sufficiently  occupied 
with  his  agricultural  pursuits,  his  books,  and  occasional 
public  and  private  business,  he  has  neither  leisure  nor 
inclination  to  interfere  in  the  administration  of  the  home 
department,  the  art  and  mystery  of  housekeeping ;  this  is 
exclusively  Winifred's  dominion,  and  here  she  shines  with 
no  small  lustre. 

"  Bless'd  with  a  temper,  whose  .unclouded  ray 
Can  make  lo-morrow  cheerful  as  to-day." 

She  has  the  art,  although  no  necessary  business  is  ne 
glected,  of  making  every  body  comfortable  about  her  ;  and 
is  a  living  arid  most  pleasing  proof  of  the  fallacy  of  the 
opinion,  that  the  spirit  of  neatness,  and  the  spirit  of  good 
humour,  refuse  to  inhabit  the  same  bosom.  Governing 
her  household  with  a  liberal  economy,  equally  remote  from 
careless  prodigality  and  parsimonious  meanness,  exacting- 
no  unreasonable  service,  yet  suffering  no  neglect  of  duty ; 
kind,  mild,  and  patient  to  well-meaning  ignorance,  but 
firm  and  resolute  in  reproving  and  controlling  mischief 
and  folly,  her  domestics  regard  her  with  almost  filial  love 
and  reverence.  Although  of  a  lively,  cheerful  disposition, 
her  steps  are  quite  as  frequently  directed  to  the  house  of 


108 

mourning,  as  to  that  of  feasting ;  and  when  sickness  and 
sorrow  sadden  the  abode  of  virtuous  poverty,  her  sym 
pathy,  and  comfort  more  substantial  than  sympathy,  as  far 
as  her  means  extend,  is  never  withheld ;  and  many  a 
grateful  heart  might  address  her  in  the  words  of  the  poet, 

"When  grief  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  !" 

But  she  has  little  compassion  for  the  poverty  and  wretch 
edness  arising  from  intemperance :  and  to  this  prolific 
fountain,  perhaps  three  fourths  of  the  misery  in  our 
country  may  be  traced.  She  is  willing  that  the  drunkard 
should  eat  of  the  fruit  of  his  doings,  in  the  hope  that 
affliction  may  bear  a  blessing  on  its  wings,  may  arouse 
him  from  his  horrible  bondage,  and  rend  asunder  the 
shackles  of  an  execrable  habit  which  drags  down,  with 
remorseless  perseverance,  body  and  soul  to  temporal  and 
eternal  perdition.  Fond  of  a  country  life,  and  fond  of  her 
home,  that  little  paradise,  of  which  she  is  the  informing 
and  enlivening  spirit,  and  which  she  so  well  knows  how 
to  render  the  delightful  habitation  of  peace  and  joy,  she 
occasionally  assists,  as  well  as  directs,  in  the  various 
occupations  of  the  day ;  but  no  silly  cupidity  ever  induces 
her  to  convert  healthful  industry  into  burthensome  fatigue, 
and  no  ridiculous  affectation  of  gentility  ever  made  her 
ashamed  of  her  business.  When  her  neighbours  call  upon 
her,  if  she  happens  to  be  employed  in  her  clean,  airy,  and 
commodious  kitchen,  she  receives  them  there  without 
hesitation  or  apology;  but  if  her  presence  is  not  required 


109 


in  this  department,  she  meets  her  company  of  course  in 
the  most  pleasant  room  her  house  affords,  which  is  always 
ready  and  always  comfortable ;  her  visiters  are  never 
choked  with  dust,  smothered  with  smoke,  and  starved 
with  cold  for  half  an  afternoon,  while  abortive  attempts 
are  making  to  nourish  into  life  a  sullen,  or  a  sickly  fire ; 
she  keeps  no  best  room  to  be  scoured  once  a  week,  and 
then  left  in  cold  and  gloomy  seclusion ;  and  when  the 
important  beverage,  tea,  is  prepared,  no  strapping  two- 
handed  lassie  is  summoned  from  the  milk-pail,  to  blunder 
round  the  room  with  the  equipage,  scalding  herself  and 
every  body  about  her,  and  tantalising  the  hungry  with  a 
mouthful  of  cake  once  in  half  an  hour ;  but  her  guests  are 
invited  to  seat  themselves  around  a  table  sufficiently  capa 
cious  for  every  one  to  partake  with  facility  of  the  good 
cheer  with  which  it  is  plentifully  covered.  Although 
always  neat,  and  even  somewhat  elegant  in  her  appear 
ance,  she  carefully  avoids  all  extravagance,  and  would 
feel  far  from  comfortable  if  she  carried  half  Ephraim's 
crop  of  pork  about  her,  although  converted  into  the  shape 
of  a  tawdry  shawl,  and  a  frightfully  enormous  Leghorn 
hat ;  and  entertains  too  little  respect  for  the  trappings  of 
vanity,  to  be  either  mortified  or  delighted  when  her 
humble  abode  is  favoured  with  the  presence  of  the  frivo 
lously  fashionable,  as  is  sometimes  the  case.  I  remember 
being  pleased  with  her  behaviour  one  day,  when  I 
happened  to  be  with  them.  The  family  had  just  sat  down 
to  a  plentiful,  as  usual,  but  plain  washing-day  dinner, 
when  a  dashing  equipage  stopped  at  the  door,  and  out 
came  Mrs.  Snipperkins,  arid  all  the  Misses  Snipperkins, 


110 

and  their  cousins,  the  two  Misses  Spingiggles,  to  pay  a 
morning  visit,  although  they  knew  perfectly  well  that  the 
hour  must  be  inconvenient  to  a  farmer's  family ;  but  this, 
by  the  way,  is  a  trick  your  half  price  gentry  are  very  fond 
of  indulging  in,  in  the  benevolent  hope  of  deriving  some 
amusement  from  the  consternation  of  the  natives.  However 
here  was  no  confusion,  no  huddling  away  the  viands,  and 
smuggling  the  apparatus  into  a  closet;  the  children  did 
not  take  to  their  heels,  screaming  with  a  mouthful  of  red 
hot  pudding  in  their  throats,  nor  the  elder  members  of  the 
family  sorrowfully  adjourn  their  appetites  to  a  more 
convenient  season.  Her  guests  were  invited,  with  cheerful 
hospitality,  to  partake  of  what  her  table  afforded :  and  on 
their  declining  so  to  do,  she  proceeded  to  help  her  family 
and  herself,  and  do  the  honours  of  the  sitting,  with  as 
contented  and  good  humoured  an  air  as  if  all  the  Snip- 
perkins  and  Spingiggles  were  in  the  Red  Sea ;  and  these 
agreeable  visitants,  finding  they  excited  neither  astonish 
ment  nor  alarm,  after  having  nine  times  viewed  the 
garden,  took  their  departure  to  try  their  luck  elsewhere. 

Her  lovely  daughter,  inheriting  all  the  good  qualities, 
and  emulating  every  thing  excellent  in  the  example  of  her 
worthy  mother,  delightfully  blending 

"  The  softness — the  spirit  of  youth, 
With  the  cool  recollection  of  age," 

is  a  prize  well  worth  a  servitude  like  that  of  Jacob  of  old. 
I  shall  not,  at  this  time,  attempt  her  portrait ;  but  so 


Ill 


friendly  am  I  to  matrimony,  that  if  I  ever  meet  with  a 
young  man  deserving  such  a  treasure,  which,  by  the  way, 
is  very  improbable,  I  may  perhaps  endeavour  to  point  her 
out  to  his  notice.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  thought  of  her 
sometimes  for  myself;  but  although  the  difference  between 
sixty-five  and  nineteen  appears  to  me  altogether  insigni 
ficant,  yet  I  am  not  without  apprehension  she  may  regard 
it  a  little  more  seriously;  and  a  refusal,  although  it  might 
not,  to  use  the  language  of  the  sage  of  Monticello  on 
another  occasion,  either  pick  my  pocket  or  break  my  leg, 
yet  is  it  a  consummation  by  no  means  devoutly  to  be 
wished.  I  shall  therefore,  I  believe,  consider  the  matter  a 
year  or  two  longer  before  I  venture  a  proposal. 


No.  V. 

In  a  former  number  I  mentioned  that  I  might  perhaps 
offer  to  the  reader  a  scrap  or  two  of  my  friend  Ezekiel's, 
but  I  confess  that  it  is  not  without  some  hesitation  that  I 
present  the  following  lines.  Some  may  be  of  opinion  that 
matters  of  awful  reality,  of  supreme  importance,  are  more 
likely  to  suffer  than  gain  from  treatment  of  this  kind ;  and, 
indeed,  we  are  so  accustomed  to  see  poetry  prostituted  to 
the  most  trivial,  worthless,  and  worse  than  worthless  pur 
poses,  that  it  seems  little  short  of  profanation  to  touch  a 


112 


sacred  subject  with  so  unhallowed  an  instrument ;  never 
theless,  it  is  possible  that  a  hint  or  an  exhortation,  conveyed 
in  this  way,  may  be  useful ;  the  eye  of  the  trifler,  who 
would  carelessly  turn  away  from  a  sermon,  may  be 
arrested  by  something  in  the  shape  of  verse,  however 
humble  or  contemptible ;  and  even  the  harmless  desire  to 
criticise — a  kind  of  business  for  which  every  one  thinks 
himself  competent — may  induce  a  perusal,  which  can 
certainly  harm  no  one. 

LINES, 

OCCASIONED  BY  READING  MATT.  CHAP.  VIII.,  VS.  24,  25,  26. 


"  And  behold,  there  arose  a  great  tempest  in  the  sea,  insomuch  that  the 
ship  was  covered  with  the  waves,  but  he  was  asleep.  And  his  disciples 
came  to  him  and  awoke  him,  saying,  Lord,  save  us,  we  perish !  And  he 
saith  unto  them,  Why  are  ye  fearful,  O  ye  of  little  faith  ]  Then  he  arose- 
and  rebuked  the  winds  and  the  sea,  and  there  was  a  great  calm." 


When  on  His  mission  from  his  home  in  heaven, 
In  the  frail  bark,  the  SAVIOUR  deigned  to  sleep ; 

The  tempest  rose — with  headlong  fury  driven, 
The  wave-tossed  vessel  whirled  along  the  deep : 

Wild  shrieked  the  storm  amid  the  parting  shrouds, 

And  the  vex'd  billows  dashed  the  darkening  clouds. 

Ah  !  then,  how  futile  human  skill  and  power, — 
Save  us  !  we  perish  in  the  overwhelming  wave, 


113 


They  cried,  and  found  in  that  tremendous  hour 

"  An  eye  to  pity,  and  an  arm  to  save." 
He  spoke,  and  lo  !  obedient  to  His  will, 
The  raging  waters  and  the  winds  were  still. 

And  thou,  poor  trembler  on  life's  stormy  sea  ! 

Where  dark  the  waves  of  sin  and  sorrow  roll, 
To  Him  for  refuge  from  the  tempest  flee — 

To  Him,  confiding,  trust  the  sinking  soul : 
For,  oh  !  He  came  to  calm  the  tempest-toss'd, 
To  seek  the  wandering,  and  to  save  the  lost. 

For  thee,  and  such  as  thee,  impelled  by  love, 
He  left  the  mansions  of  the  bless'd  on  high: 

'Mid  sin,  and  pain,  and  grief,  and  fear,  to  move — 
With  lingering  anguish,  and  with  shame,  to  die. 

The  debt  to  Justice  boundless  Mercy  paid, 

For  hopeless  guilt  complete  atonement  made. 

Oh  !  in  return  for  such  surpassing  grace, 

Poor,  blind,  and  naked,  what  canst  thou  impart  1 

Canst  thou  no  offering  on  His  altar  place  ? 
Yes,  lowly  mourner  !  give  him  all  thy  heart : 

That  simple  offering  he  will  not  disown — 

That  living  incense  may  approach  his  throne. 

He  asks  not  herds,  and  flocks,  and  seas  of  oil — 
No  vain  oblations  please  th'  all-knowing  mind ; 

But  the  poor,  weary,  sin-sick,  spent  with  toil, 
Who  humbly  seek  it,  shall  deliverance  find. 
15 


114 

* 

Like  her,  the  sufferer,  who  in  secret  stole 

To  touch  His  garment,  and  at  once  was  whole. 

Oh,  for  a  voice  of  thunder  !  which  might  wake 
The  slumbering  sinner,  ere  he  sink  in  death ; 

Oh,  for  a  tempest,  into  dust  to  shake 

His  sand-built  dwelling,  while  he  yet  has  breath  ! 

A  viewless  hand,  to  picture  on  the  wall 

His  fearful  sentence,  ere  the  curtain  fall. 

Child  of  the  dust !  from  torpid  ruin  rise — 
Be  earth's  delusions  from  thy  bosom  hurled ; 

And  strive  to  measure,  with  enlightened  eyes, 
The  dread  importance  of  the  eternal  world. 

The  shades  of  night  are  gathering  round  thee  fast — 

Arise  to  labour,  ere  thy  day  be  past. 

In  darkness,  tottering  on  the  slippery  verge 

Of  frail  existence,  soon  to  be  no  more ; 
'   Death's  rude,  tempestuous,  ever-nearing  surge, 

Shall  quickly  dash  thee  from  the  sinking  shore. 
But  ah  !  the  secrets  of  the  following  day, 
What  tongue  may  utter,  or  what  eye  survey  ! 

Oh  !  think  in  time,  then,  what  the  meek  inherit — 
What  the  peace-maker's,  what  the  mourner's  part ; 

The  allotted  portion  of  the  poor  in  spirit — 
The  promised  vision  of  the  pure  in  heart. 

For  yet  in  Gilead  there  is  balm  to  spare, 

And,  prompt  to  succour,  a  Physician  there. 


115 


For  me,  I  ask  no  mansion  of  the  just, 

No  bright  possession  in  yon  dazzling  sky — 

For  me,  't  were  joy  sufficient,  low  in  dust, 
Like  weeping  Mary,  at  His  feet  to  lie 

In  deep  abhorrence  of  myself,  and  hear 

Such  words  as  gladdened  her  delighted  ear. 


No.  VI. 

"  Hard  times,  hard  times,  neighbour  Ephraim— abomi 
nable  hard  times !"  said  Habakkuk  Grogit,  as  he  entered 
the  room  where  my  old  friend  and  I  were  sitting  together; 
"  can't  borrow  a  dollar — been  all  round  the  country — no 
money  to  be  had — wonder  where  it 's  all  gone — suppose 
to  the  East  Indies,  or  locked  up  in  the  banks ;  can't  you 
let  a  body  have  a  few  hundreds? — give  good  security." 
"  Take  a  seat,  Habakkuk,"  said  Ephraim,  "  if  thou  art  not 
in  a  hurry,  and  let  us  have  a  little  conversation.  I  do  not 
think  the  money  has  all  gone  to  the  East  Indies,  neither 
do  I  believe  that  the  banks  are  troubled  with  much  besides 
what  they  manufacture  themselves :  I  have  none  to  lend, 
and,  (excuse  my  plainness,  Habakkuk,  the  probe  is  some 
times  as  useful  as  the  plaster,)  if  I  had  I  would  not,  just 
now,  lend  it  to  thee  ;  thou  oiferest  what  thou  callest  good 
security — meaning,  I  presume,  a  mortgage  of  thy  paternal 


116 


acres;  but  is  it  probable,  with  thy  present  habits — for  thou 
art  not  remarkable  for  industry  and  attention  to  business, 
and  art  seen  at  the  tavern  quite  as  often  as  is  necessary — 
is  it  probable  that  thou  wouldst  ever  pay  the  interest,  much 
less  the  principal  ?  and  thinkest  thou  not  that  it  would  be 
as  painful  to  me  to  take  thy  little  patrimony,  as  to  thee  to 
lose  it  ?  No,  what  I  call  good  security  is  founded,  not  on 
the  property  only,  but  on  the  virtues,  the  industry,  and 
sobriety,  and  honesty,  and  punctuality  of  the  debtor.  But 
why  dost  thou  wish  to  borrow  ?  peradventure  to  purchase 
more  land ;  take  my  advice  and  let  it  alone,  unless  what 
thou  hast  already  is  brought  to  the  highest  state  of  im 
provement,  which  I  fancy  is  not  the  case ;  this  hankering 
after  unnecessary  acres,  this  desire  to  add  field  to  field,  has 
been  the  ruin  of  thousands ;  unable  to  cultivate  them  to 
advantage,  and  of  course  unable  to  pay  for  them,  they 
become  embarrassed  and  disheartened,  fly  for  consolation  to 
the  grog-shop,  and  vainly  endeavour  to  drown  anxiety  and 
perplexity  in  the  bottle  ;  but  perhaps  thou  hast  contracted 
debts  already?  well,  thou  must  endure  the  consequences 
of  thy  own  folly,  but  give  not  way  to  despair,  reform  thy 
habits,  amend  thy  life,  do  thy  best,  pray  for  a  blessing  on 
thy  labours,  and  it  may  reasonably  be  hoped  that  thy 
creditors,  observing  thy  altered  conduct,  will  allow  thee 
time  to  extricate  thyself  from  thy  difficulties."  "Yes," 
continued  Ephraim,  as  Habakkuk  took  his  departure, 
apparently  little  pleased  with  either  the  preacher  or  the 
sermon,  "yes,  the  times  are  hard,  but  what  makes  them 
so  but  our  vices,  and  our  follies?  the  labourer  finds  them 
hard  when  he  spends  half  his  earnings  in  poisoning  him- 


117 


self  with  whiskey ;  the  farmer  finds  them  hard,  because 
he  has  abandoned  the  frugal  industrious  habits  of  his 
ancestors,  and  lives  abundantly,  too  well,  as  it  is  miscalled, 
for  his  means ;  the  merchant  finds  them  so,  because, 
although  he  made  a  princely  fortune  while  we  had  half 
'the  commerce  of  the  world  in  our  hands,  he  spent  it  with 
the  silly  extravagance  of  a  madman,  at  once  impoverishing 
himself,  and  injuring  his  neighbours  by  his  ruinous  exam 
ple  ;  he  must  have  his  magnificent  mansion,  his  splendid 
furniture,  his  brilliant  equipage,  his  costly  wines,  his  tribe 
of  wasteful,  worthless  domestics ;  yes,  we  shall  find  the 
times  hard  till  we  mend  our  manners."  Ephraim  had 
got  upon  his  hobby,  and  how  long  he  might  have  conti 
nued  to  harangue,  I  know  not,  but  as  I  had  heard  him 
often  on  the  same  subject  before,  and  wished  to  talk  a 
little  myself,  I  took  the  liberty  to  interrupt  him  by  reading 
the  following  dream  of  Ezekiel's : 

In  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep  falleth  on 
men,  Omar  dreamed  a  dream,  and  behold,  it  seemed  that 
the  rising  sun  shone  with  mild  radiance,  on  herb,  tree, 
fruit,  and  flower,  and  the  verdant  earth  smiled  with  dewy 
freshness  in  his  beams,  when  Industry,  strong  and  active, 
exulting  in  existence,  with  erect  deportment,  and  elastic 
step,  commenced  his  journey.  The  rose  of  health  glowed 
on  his  manly  cheek,  and  the  srnile  of  cheerfulness  sat 
delighted  on  his  open  brow ;  his  course  was  directed 
towards  that  upland  region,  where,  amidst  groves  of 
unfading  verdure,  diffusing  fragrance  over  romantic  val 
leys,  blooming  in  perennial  beauty,  Peace  and  Competence 


118 

repose  together,  and  reward  "  a  youth  of  labour  with  an 
age  of  ease." 

"Stern  Winter  smiles  in  that  auspicious  clime, 
The  fields  are  florid  with  unfading  prime, 
And  from  the  breezy  deep  the  blest  inhale 
The  fragrant  murmurs  of  the  western  gale." 

Though  powerful  to  labour,  and  unremitting  in  exertion, 
his  progress  was  continually  impeded,  and  his  efforts 
baffled  by  a  succession  of  disheartening  difficulties,  and 
clouds  and  darkness  frequently  impaired  his  prospect  of 
the  wished-for  land.  "  These  obstacles,  my  son,  that  ob 
struct  thy  path,  these  gloomy  shadows  that  obscure  thy 
vision,"  said  Wisdom,  "  are  owing  to  the  machinations  of 
a  frightful  monster  called  Poverty,  who  inhabits  the 
neighbouring  caverns  and  infests  the  country;  and,  alone, 
thou  wilt  never  be  able  to  evade  his  snares,  and  escape 
from  his  dominion;  but  take  to  thy  bosom  Credit,  the 
blooming  daughter  of  Integrity  and  Punctuality,  and 
happiness  shall  smile  on  your  espousals ;  but  beware  of 
the  arts  of  thy  enemy,  he  has  numerous  indefatigable 
emissaries  abroad,  to  lure  the  careless  to  his  bleak  and 
comfortless  abode ;  amongst  these,  few  are  more  to  be 
dreaded  than  Idleness  and  Intemperance;  insidious  in 
their  approaches,  they  frequently  assume  the  garb  of 
innocent  recreation,  and  insensibly  beguile  the  unthinking 
to  the  gulf  of  ruin :  shun  them,  my  son,  as  thou  wouldst 
the  breath  .of  pestilence;  their  touch  is  pollution,  and  their 
embrace  is  death."  "  Never  fear/'  said  Industry,  "  I  have 


119 

seen  the  miscreants,  and  shall  assuredly  avoid  their  dis 
gusting  society:  I  shall  know  Idleness  by  his  ragged 
elbows,  his  beard  of  an  inch  long,  his  hair,  which  looks  as 
if  it  had  not  felt  a  comb  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  his  jaws 
stretched  from  ear  to  ear  in  an  everlasting  yawn  ;  and  as 
to  Intemperance,  his  feeble,  tottering  gait,  his  bloated  face, 
and  carcass,  and  his  leaden  eyes,  staring  at  nothing,  like 
an  owl  in  sunshine,  will  sufficiently  indicate  him,  therefore 
fear  nothing." 

His  Mentor's  voice  the  aspiring  youth  obeyed, 
He  sought,  he  woo'd,  he  won  the  blooming  maid ; 

and  prosperity  blessed  their  union.  The  discouraging  impe 
diments,  the  mountains  of  opposition,  which  had  appeared 
so  formidable  to  Industry  alone,  vanished  into  thin  air  at 
their  united  approach.  Cheerfulness  strewed  their  path 
with  roses,  Labour  and  Innocence  lulled  them  to  their 
evening  slumber,  and  Enterprise  and  Hope  awoke  them  to 
their  morning  task.  Their  advance,  though  slow,  was  sure : 
already  they  caught,  at  times,  some  enchanting  glimpses 
of  their  future  happy  abode ;  already  some  erratic  breezes 
from  its  flowery  borders  wafted  to  their  ravished  senses 
a  delightful  foretaste  of  the  sweets  to  come,  when  two 
travellers  joined  their  company ;  the  one  called  himself 
Relaxation,  and  the  name  of  the  other  was  Refreshment. 
Their  appearance  was  prepossessing,  and  their  visit  short, 
but  so  entertaining  to  Industry,  that  he  was  exceedingly 
well  pleased  to  meet  them  again  on  the  morrow ;  and 
from  this  time,  hardly  a  day  elapsed  without  their  spending 


120 


more  or  less  time  together.  Credit  saw  this  growing 
intimacy  with  no  small  uneasiness ;  there  was  something 
in  the  appearance  of  the  strangers  that  excited  her  alarm 
and  aversion.  Notwithstanding  their  apparently  undesign- 
ing  deportment,  and  harmless  appellations,  a  chilling,  with 
ering  atmosphere  appeared  to  surround  them;  at  the  touch 
of  Relaxation  all  her  exertions  seemed  paralysed,  and  the 
pestiferous  breath  of  Refreshment  made  her  sick  at  heart ; 
and  when  Industry  declared  his  determination  to  adopt 
them  into  his  family  as  his  constant  companions,  she  gave 
him  one  last  lingering  glance  of  pity,  and  slept  to  wake  no 
more.  Then  it  was  that  the  wily  intruders,  winding  around 
him  the  shackles  of  detestable  Habit,  and  throwing  off 
their  convenient  disguise,  stood  before  him  in  all  the 
deformity  of  Idleness  and  Intemperance ;  they  laughed 
with  scorn  at  his  futile  attempts  to  escape  from  their 
fetters,  they  married  him  without  his  consent  to  a  dirty, 
blear-eyed  horrible  hag,  by  men  called  Infamy,  and  with  a 
grin  of  demoniac  malice,  and  a  yell  of  savage  triumph, 
dragged  him  down  to  the  den  of  their  master,  Poverty; 
who,  "  grinning  horribly  a  ghastly  smile,"  while  his  lantern 
jaws  and  iron  teeth  chattered  with  frightful  joy,  seized  his 
victim,  and  dashed  him  a  thousand  fathoms  deep  into  the 
dungeon  of  Despair,  when  the  loathsome  reptile  with  a 
hundred  heads,  called  Disease,  fixing  his  envenomed 
fangs  in  his  vitals,  and  winding  around  him  his  slimy 
folds,  he  was  heard  of  no  more. 


121 


No.  VII. 

I  have  thought  sometimes  that  there  was  not,  perhaps, 
an  individual  in  the  world,  in  health  and  above  absolute 
want,  who  would  willingly  exchange  situations  in  every 
respect,  with  any  other  individual ;  but  this  respectful 
opinion  which  we  so  happily  entertain  of  ourselves, 
although  doubtless  very  comfortable  and  pleasant  to  us, 
might  possibly  become  a  little  annoying  and  somewhat 
insufferable  to  others,  were  it  not  counteracted,  and  in 
some  measure  neutralised,  by  the  friendly  attentions  of 
our  neighbours,  who  kindly  endeavour,  as  far  as  in  them 
lies,  to  rouse  us  from  time  to  time  to  a  proper  understand 
ing  of  our  insignificance :  so  that  while  we  keep  one  eye 
fixed  as  it  were  in  complacent  contemplation  of  our  own 
desert,  and  with  the  other,  diligently  scrutinise  the  failings 
of  our  neighbour,  we  get  along  very  well  together.  I  was 
led  to  make  this  reflection,  which,  though  undoubtedly 
very  sagacious,  and  indicating  such  consummate  know 
ledge  of  human  nature  as  might  be  looked  for  in  a  person  of 
my  antiquity,  has  perhaps  not  much  novelty  to  recommend 
it,  by  a  perusal  of  the  following  letter  which  has  just  come 
to  hand.  Here  was  I,  the  nameless  biographer  of  my 
neighbour  Ephraim,  jogging  along  with  much  gravity  and 
self-respect,  and  holding  forth  occasionally,  for  the  edifica 
tion  of  the  world,  nothing  doubting  that  the  said  world 
was  full  as  willing  to  listen  as  I  was  to  talk;  but  this 
friendly  shake  of  Anna  Maria  has  roused  me  from  my  idle 
16 


122 


dream,  and  dissipated,  for  a  while,  at  least,  the  illusions  of 
vanity ;  and  I  may  comfort  her  with  the  information,  that 
she  will  not  probably  be  much  longer  afflicted  with  my 
lucubrations. 


To  the  anonymous  writer  of  the  Account  of  My  Neighbour 
Ephraim. 

"  >  ":~     ~.i  •  '.''}£_  -.''-.-  •  '- 

February  28th,  1820. 
Sir, 

I  have  wish'd  some  time  to  tell  you  a  piece  of  my  mind, 
But  somehow,  since  my  marriage,  I  hardly  ever  can  find 
Half  an  hour  of  leisure,  to  write  a  line  or  two, 
The  mistress  of  a  family  has  such  a  world  of  things  to  do  ; 
You  will  observe  I  write  in  verse;  I  always  had  a  powerful 
Propensity  to  poetry,  though  my  uncle  used  to  look  as 

sour  full 
As  verjuice,  when  I  sacrific'd  to  the  muse,  and  had  the 

conscience 
To  call  it,   sacrificing    to  a   fiddlestick,  and    miserable 

nonsense ! 

But  my  aunt  said,  she  was  sure  in  reason  I  had  a  genus, 
For  I  could  n't  knit  a  stocking  fit  to  throw  at  a  dog,  and 

between  us, 
I  never  was  particularly  fond  of  work,  though  not  averse 

to  wear 

Domestic  manufacture,  but  that 's  neither  here  nor  there. 
My  husband  is  a  worthy,  respectable  man,  of  course, 
But  he  has  very  little  more  taste  for  poetry  than  a  horse, 


123 


And  is  quite  as  willing,  like  many  well-meaning  men, 
To  see  his  wife's  fingers  busy  with  the  needle  as  the  pen  ; 
So,  not  wishing  to  displease  him,  and  hating  dismal  faces, 
I  seldom  write  unless  he  is  out,  which  seldom  enough  the 

case  is ; 

But  the  day  before  yesterday,  I  thought  would  nicely  do 
To  write  a  letter  for  the  "  Visiter,"  and  a  friendly  hint  to  you ; 
For  my  husband,  after  breakfast,  sat  off  for  a  vendue, 
Which  was  like  to  detain  him  chief  part  of  the  day, 
So  I  got  rny  pen  and  paper  out,  and  put  my  work  away, 
And  told  Sally  to  put  a  couple  of  potatoes  in  the  skillet  to 

smother, 

Set  the  cold  bit  of  pie  to  warm,  and  go  and  see  her  mother. 
For  you  know,  it  would  be  nonsense  to  cook  a  load  of 

meat, 
When  there  was  only  me  at  home,  and  I  did  n't  want  to 

eat; 
But  I  had  hardly  written  a  line  or  two,  when  open  bounc'd 

the  door, 

And  in  came  my  husband,  followed  by  two  or  three  more : 
"My  dear,"  says  he,  "we  found  the  vendue  had  been 

adjourn'd, 
So  I  got  these  friends  to  stop  and  take  dinner  as  they 

return'd." 

"  Indeed  my  dear,"  says  I,  "  I  Jm  afraid  there 's  none  to  take, 
For  I  was  writing  a  little  poetry,  and  Sally" — but  I  stopp'd, 

for  I  saw  him  make 
A  very  disagreeable  face,  "  I  wish  your  abominable  poetry 

— but  however," 
Says  he,  "do  stir  now  at  least,  and  get  us  something  clever." 


124 


Only  think !  well  I  borrowed  Mrs.  Fidget's  lame  boy  Dick, 
To  clean  knives,  and  wait  at  table,  for  Solomon  has  a  trick 
Of  being  always  away  when  he  's  wanted ;  my  husband 

was  in  a  fret, 

Which  did  n't  make  things  better :  but  he  is  very  apt  to  get 
A  little  out  of  humour,  when  he  's  like  to  lose  his  dinner. 
What  cannibals  the  men  are !  I  often  tell  them  that  a 

thinner 

White  of  an  egg  sort  of  diet,  would  have  an  excellent  effect 
On  both  body  and  mind,  but  they  treat  it  with  neglect. 
Well,  Sally  you  may  be  sure  was  sent  for  in  a  flurry, 
And  we  killed  the  blind  old  cock,  and  setting  hen,  for  in  a 

hurry 

Nothing  else  could  be  got,  and  things  went  off  better 
Than  might  have  been  expected :  but  I  could  n't  write  my 

letter ; 
And  yesterday  I  was  interrupted  again,  and  almost  begin 

to  fear, 
Such  repeated  trials  may  injure  my  temper ;  but  you  shall 

hear — 

My  husband  was  out,  so  I  told  Sally  just  to  rub 
The  furniture  in  the  parlour,  shake  the  carpet,  and  scrub 
The  floor,  and  the  walls,  arid  the  windows,  and  looking 

glasses, 

And  whitewash  the  hearth,  and  give  a  polish  to  the  brasses ; 
And  having  given  her  directions  what  to  do  next,  I  tried 
To  have  things  a  little  quiet  and  comfortable,  so  I  tied 
The  oldest  child  to  the  bed  post,  and  to  keep 
The  youngest  brat  from  squalling,  made  him  sleep, 


125 


With  a  little  paregoric,  for  I  keep  a  chest  abounding 
With  valuable  medicines,  some  of  my  own  compounding, 
Which  nobody  but  the  children  will  take,  though  excellent 

I  know, 
For  if  they  do  not  find  you  sick,  they  are  sure  to  make 

you  so : 
I  think  it  prudent,  when  one  's  well,  to  be  pretty  free  with 

physic, 
To  get  well  used  to  nauseous  doses  against  one  really  is 

sick ; 

But  my  husband  won't,  says  he,  "  its  best  to  be  cautious, 
Besides  my  dear,  I  find  your  poetry  a  dose  sufficiently 

nauseous." 
Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  gave  the  paregoric,  and  then 

strove  to  rally 

My  scatter'd  thoughts  a  little,  but  in  vain,  for  in  came  Sally, 
With  Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Waddle's  compliments,  who 

would  come  to  tea, 
"  Oh  !  I  wish  they  were — somewhere  else — well,  tell  her  I 

shall  be  happy  to  see 
Her  and   her   agreeable  daughters," — a  set  of  tiresome 

creatures, 
How  wretchedly  they  torment  one,  but  I  tried  to  twist  my 

features 

Into  something  like  a  smile,  and  of  course  we  had  to  get 
The  parlour  to  rights  immediately,  but  the  floor  was  so  wet 
It  would  have  taken  half  a  day  to  have  thoroughly  dried  it, 
So  we  clapp'd  the  carpet  on  as  quick  as  possible  to  hide  it : 
I  was  quite  in  a  quandary  where  to  begin, 
There  was  every  thing  to  do,  and  no  time  to  do  it  in : 


126 


"  O,"  says  I,  "  Sally,  never  mind  the  windows,  they  '11  be 

here  in  a  minute, 
Just  dust  the  parlour  out,  and  put  the  chairs  and  tables 

in  it, 
And  the  silver  wants  cleaning-,  and  the  tea  things  are 

dusty, 

And  the  sugar  's  full  of  ants,  and  the  tea  a  little  musty." 
We  fixed  Solomon  on  the  gate  post,  to  keep  a  look  out 
For  the  Waddles,  and  to  let  us  know,  but  not  to  make 

a  rout, 
But  the  goose  never  saw  'em  'till  they  were  close  to  the 

place, 
And  then  screamed,  "the  Waddles  !  the  Waddles!"  till  he 

was  black  in  the  face ; 

I  was  in  a  violent  perspiration,  and  quite  sick  and  lame, 
And  had  barely  time  to  change  my  cap,  before  the  Waddles 

came; 
In  the  kitchen,  things  were  crooked  too,  and  Sally  in  a 

flutter, 

For  there  was  n't  in  the  whole  house  a  thimble  full  of  butter, 
Except  the  old  garlicky  lump,  and  the  cat,  a  purblind  beast, 
Had  tumbled  into  the  cream  pot,  and  overset  the  yeast ; 
The  cream  had  got  so  full  of  hair,  't  was  vain  to  think  of 

freeing  it, 
But  Sally  thought,  if  the  room  was  dark,  they'd  swallow 

without  seeing  it ; 
But  the  butter  really  was  so  strong,  it  would  not  do  to 

risk  it, 
So  Solomon  went,  on  the  old  lame  colt,  full  speed,  for  cake 

and  biscuit ; 


127 


And  things  went  off  extremely  clever,  the  Waddles  did 

not  seem 
To  perceive  the  extraneous  substances  established  in  the 

cream. 
Though  Mrs.  Waddle  's  fond  of  it,  and  took  a  monstrous 

quantity, 
For  "  my  love,"  says  she,  "  I  always  found  you  never  have 

it  scant  at  tea ;" 
But  when  she  drank  her  portion  off,  and  a  frightful  cough 

succeeded, 

I  must  confess,  I  did  not  feel  as  much  surprise  as  she  did ; 
When  all  was  clear'd  away,  my  husband  came,  and  found 

the  child 

Screaming  in  the  dark  at  the  bed  post,  like  wild. 
For  I  had  been  so  worried  with  the  tea,  and  the  Waddles, 

I  forgot  to  untie  him, 

And  he  was  so  scar'd  and  famish'd  't  was  hard  to  pacify  him. 
My  husband  said  little,  but  I  saw  by  his  look, 
That  he  suppos'd  I  had  a  novel,  or  some  other  instructive 

book, 
Or  had  been  writing  a  little  poetry,  for  he  is  n't  such  a 

noddle, 

As  to  think  I  'd  tie  the  child  up,  on  account  of  Mrs.  Waddle  j 
And  now  I  shall  be  interrupted  again,  immediately,  no 

doubt, 
So  that  to  write  a  letter  of  any  reasonable  length,  is  totally 

out 
Of  the  question,  I  shall  therefore  proceed  with  all  brevity, 

to  say, 
In  a  gentle,  kind,  and  conciliating  way, 


128 


That  we  have  been  annoy'd  with  abundance  more  than 

enough 

Of  your  tiresome  old  Ephraim:  such  wretched  stupid  stuff 
Would  wear  out  the  patience  of  an  ass,  and  I  earnestly 

desire, 

If  you  have  more  of  it  on  hand,  you  will  put  it  in  the  fire  : 
I  'd  have  you  know  we  take  the  paper,  sir,  and  pay  our  cash 
For  something  worth  perusing,  not  for  trash 
So  wholly  worthless,  and  in  short,  I  think 

Your  wisest  course  is,  to  give  scribbling  o'er, 
Sell  all  your  paper — throw  away  your  ink, 

And  tire  your  neighbours,  and  yourself,  no  more. 

ANNA  MARIA  COUPLET. 


No.  VIII. 

Having  been  absent  from  home  for  about  a  week  or  ten 
days  on  a  little  journey,  on  my  return,  as  I  passed  through 
the  village,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  rny  friend's  residence, 
exchanging  as  is  usual  on  such  occasions,  friendly  greetings 
with  every  one  I  met,  I  was  asked  whether  I  had  heard  of 
the  unhappy  accident  which  had  happened  to  my  neigh 
bour  Ephraim  ?  On  my  replying  in  the  negative,  I  was 
informed  that  he  had  been  considerably  bruised  by  an 
unlucky  heifer,  which  had  attacked  him  in  the  field;  about 


129 


half  a  mile  further  on  my  way,  I  was  told  he  had  been 
severely  wounded  by  a  vicious  cow,  and  was  thought  to 
be  in  some  danger ;  and  when  I  arrived  at  ihe  turn  of  the 
road,  I  learned  that  he  had  been  frightfully  mangled  by 
a  couple  of  mad  bulls,  was  carried  home  senseless,  and 
soon  expired — that  his  wife  was  confined  to  her  bed  with 
illness,  and  both  his  sons  from  home.  On  hearing  this 
dreadful  confirmation  of  my  worst  fears,  and  reflecting  on 
the  distressed  situation  of  the  daughter,  I  thought  it  best 
to  render  immediately  all  the  little  services  in  my  power  ; 
accordingly,  I  turned  back  to  the  post  office,  and  sent  off 
intelligence  of  the  melancholy  event  to  some  distant 
relations  and  friends,  and  then  called  at  the  nearest  store, 
and  purchased  a  winding-sheet,  which  I  put  in  my  pocket ; 
I  afterwards  bespoke  a  plain  strong  coffin,  and  directed  a 
grave  to  be  prepared,  and  then  pursued  my  way  to  the 
habitation  of  my  departed  friend.  The  evening  closed  in 
before  I  had  travelled  half  the  distance ;  the  air  was  raw 
and  chilly,  and  the  sky  looked  lowering  and  tempestuous ; 
the  wind,  in  frightful  gusts,  swept  across  my  path,  and 
amidst  the  leafless  branches  seemed  to 

"  Sigh  the  sad  spirit  of  the  coming  storm." 

Every  thing  wore  a  dreary  and  comfortless  aspect,  and 
appeared  to  partake  of  the  sadness  and  desolation  of  my 
own  feelings.  On  approaching  the  dwelling,  my  old 
acquaintance  Watch,  the  house  dog,  met  me  as  usual, 
with  his  kind,  but  rough  caresses.  Putting  him  gently 
aside,  I  rebuked  him  in  a  whisper,  and  quietly. lifting  the 
17 


130 


latch,  proceeded  on  tip-toe  through  the  -entry,  with  that 
solemn  and  mysterious  silence  so  generally  observed  in 
the  house  of  death,  as  if  the  survivors  were  fearful  of 
awakening  and  calling  back  the  departed ;  and  opening  the 
well-known  parlour  door,  found  Ephraim  in  the  act  of 
swallowing  a  hearty  draught  of  excellent  rye  coffee,  while 
a  respectable  dish  of  buckwheat  cakes  smoked  most  in 
vitingly  on  the  table,  around  which  his  smiling  family 
were  comfortably  seated.  As  soon  as  I  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  my  astonishment,  I  enquired  (although 
certainly  the  enquiry  was  apparently  needless)  whether 
they  were  all  well?  and  if  any  thing  unpleasant  had 
happened  ?  and  was  told,  that  Ephraim  had  stumbled  in 
the  dark  over  a  blind  calf,  that  was  asleep  in  the  path, 
and  sprained  his  thumb,  and  that  his  wife  had  been  a 
little  troubled  with  tooth-ache.  I  then  related  my  story, 
which  gave  rise  to  a  number  of  observations  on  tattling, 
and  the  talent  for  amplification,  which  is  so  generally 
possessed,  and  some  pleasant  remarks  were  made  on  the 
kindness  with  which  people  endeavour  to  make  the  most 
of  their  neighbour's  ailments  and  calamities,  and  the  old 
story  of  the  man  and  the  three  crows  was  not  forgotten 
on  the  occasion.  "  Well,  my  friend,"  said  Ephraim,  as  we 
finished  our  meal,  and  drew  our  chairs  round  the  fire,  "  it 
seems  that  the  love  of  the  marvellous,  the  desire  to  add  a 
dash  of  the  wonderful  to  the  most  common  occurrence, 
which  is  so  prevalent  in  the  world,  has  put  thee  to  some 
trouble  and  expense  ;  however,  the  sheet  I  suppose  may  be 
converted  to  some  useful  purpose,  the  narrow  house  will 
keep  till  it  is  wanted,  and  the  hole  we  must  fill  up  again, 


131 

lest  some  one  should  happen  to  occupy  it  before  his  time  ; 
and  if  this  restless,  gossiping  spirit,  never  did  any  thing 
more  injurious,  we  might  endure  him  with  tolerable  pa 
tience,  but  he  is  too  often  as  malicious  as  active,  scattering, 
with  mischievous  industry,  uneasiness  in  families,  and 
dissention  in  neighbourhoods :  lynx-eyed  to  discern  the 
most  trivial  frailty  or  infirmity,  and  trumpet-tongued  to 
proclaim  it  to  the  world,  while  on  other  occasions,  so 
purblind  is  he,  that  he  cannot  perceive  an  amiable  quality, 
or  a  commendable  action,  although  close  to  his  nose  :  truly 
indeed  saith  the  poet, 

"  On  eagles'  wings  immortal  scandals  fly, 
While  virtuous  actions  are  but  born  to  die." 

"I  know  not  how  true  it  may  be,  but  it  is  said,  that  this 
busy,  meddling,  tattling,  wonder-hunting,  pestilent,  scan 
dalous  spirit,  is  particularly  apt  to  infest  small  towns  and 
villages  ;  with  obstinate  perversity  and  virulent  pertinacity 
magnifying  all  the  evil  he  meets  with,  and  belittleing  all 
the  good;  misrepresenting  and  distorting  indiiferent  actions, 
murdering  reputations,  and  destroying  confidence,  setting 
the  worthy  inhabitants  by  the  ears,  they  hardly  know 
why  or  wherefore,  and  raising  a  wonderful  dust  about 
nothing.  If  this  is  the  case,  it  must  certainly  be  desirable 
to  get  rid  of  so  disagreeable  and  troublesome  an  inmate, 
with  all  expedition,  and  I  know  of  no  method  more  likely 
to  banish  him,  than  for  each  one  to  resolve  to  mind  his 
own  business,  and  let  that  of  others  alone  :  follow  the 
example  of  the  farmer,  who  confines  himself  to  the  culti- 


132 

vation  of  his  own  enclosures,  and  finds  work  enough 
in  eradicating  the  weeds  from  his  own  fields,  without 
intermeddling  with  those  of  his  neighbours ;  let  each  one 
mend  one  ;  let  him  go  thoroughly  and  effectually  into  the 
business  of  self-examination  ;  let  him  look  with  a  resolute 
and  unshrinking  eye  into  the  unexplored  intricacies  and 
dark  recesses  of  his  own  heart,  and  if  he  find  it  '  deceitful 
above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked,'  if  instead  of 
being  <•  rich  and  increased  with  goods,  and  having  need  of 
nothing,'  he  finds  that  he  is  i  wretched,  and  miserable,  and 
poor,  and  blind,  and  naked,'  if  he  trembles  with  alarm  at 
the  humiliating  discovery  of  his  own  depravity,  his  utter 
worthlessness  and  inability  of  himself  to  think  a  good 
thought,  or  do  a  good  deed,  he  will  feel  little  disposition  to 
pry  with  idle  curiosity  into  the  actions  of  his  neighbours, 
or  to  scrutinise  with  acrimonious  severity,  the  frailties  of 
an  offending  brother,  but  in  somewhat  of  the  spirit  of  that 
charity  which  '  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind,  which  is  not 
easily  provoked  and  thinketh  no  evil,'  his  petition  may 
possibly  be, 

(  Teach  me  to  feel  another's  wo, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see  j 
The  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me.' " 


133 


No.  IX. 

Although  it  seems  probable  that  the  following  little 
piece  of  Ezekiel's  was  written  some  time  since,  at  a  period 
when  the  goodly  work  of  extermination  was  going  on  in 
the  wilderness,  yet  I  venture  to  insert  it  in  order  to  comply 
with  some  sort  of  an  engagement,  but  chiefly  because  it 
affords  me  an  occasion  to  introduce  a  notion  of  Ephraim's 
on  the  same  subject  ;  we  had  been  conversing  on  the  rapid 
extension  of  the  white  settlements,  and  the  probable  total 
extinction  ere  long  of  the  Indian  race,  when  I  handed  him 
these  lines.  "  Aye,"  said  he,  as  he  gave  a  glance  at  the 
conclusion,  "  we  may  call  upon  the  good  and  wise  to  bestir 
themselves  ;  but  if  I  may  venture  to  judge  from  my  own 
impressions,  it  will  be  some  time,  in  our  country  at  least, 
before  they  will  feel  much  of  the  spirit  of  exertion,  however 
desirous  they  may  be  to  benefit  every  branch  of  the  human 
family  ;  the  recent  decision  in  congress,  of  what  has  been, 
not  unaptly,  called  the  misery  question,  has  operated  on 
the  hopes  and  prospects  of  the  philanthropist  like  a  blasting 
mildew  on  the  blossoms  of  the  spring.  When  I  reflect  on 
the  wretched  infatuation,  the  deplorable  imbecility  which 
consented  to  diffuse  the  fretting  leprosy,  the  horrible 
opprobrium  of  slavery,  over  regions  of  almost  indefinite 
extent,  and  this  too,  not  only  in  opposition  to  the  dictates 
of  humanity  and  of  sound  policy,  but  in  the  case  of  several 
of  the  public  servants,  in  defiance  and  contempt  of  the 
repeatedly  declared  will  of  their  constituents  ;  I  find  it  no 


134 


easy  matter  to  restrain  my  indignation  within  the  bounds 
of  decorous  language.  If  those  who  have  thus  contributed 
to  spread  this  portentous  evil  over  an  immense  expanse  of 
territory,  and  throw  away  at  a  cast,  and  for  ever,  the 
redeeming  influence  of  the  free  states,  were  really  doubtful 
of  the  power  of  congress  to  impose  the  restriction,  or  if 
they  were  affrighted  at  the  ghost  of  civil  war  and  separa 
tion,  the  raw-head  and  bloody-bones  which  cunning  or 
arrogance  conjured  up  for  their  contemplation,  they  should 
have  resigned  their  seats  to  men  of  more  correct  opinions, 
and  of  firmer  nerves.  I  have  no  desire  to  enlarge  on  this 
hateful  subject,  it  has  been  sufficiently  discussed  ;  but  as  it 
incidentally  occurred,  I  could  do  no  less  than  express  my 
mortification  and  regret,  and  a  hope  and  trust,  that  at  the 
next  election,  the  freemen  of  New  Jersey  will  not  fail  to 
bear  in  mind  the  merits  of  those  who  have  mis-represented 
them  on  this  occasion.  We  may  not  it  is  true,  recall  the 
evil,  or  undo  the  mischief,  but  we  may  in  some  measure, 
remove  the  degrading  stigma  from  ourselves.  With  respect 
to  the  civilisation  and  conversion  of  the  Indians,  I  am  not 
one  of  those  who  believe  the  thing  to  be  altogether  impos 
sible  ;  let  those  who  doubt  its  practicability,  read  Loskiel's 
history  of  the  missions  of  the  United  Brethren,  and  contrast 
the  mild,  lamb-like  deportment  of  the  Indian  converts  with 
the  brutal  ferocity  of  the  white  and  red  savages  around 
them,  and  they  may  perhaps  change  their  opinion  ;  but  I 
have  no  expectation  that  the  remnant  of  the  Indian  race  will 
be  civilised,  or  usefully  enlightened,  by  distributing  among 
among  them  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year,  which,  I  believe, 
is  the  sum  appropriated  for  the  purpose,  or  by  the  efforts 


135 

of  a  few  individuals  scattered  here  and  there.  No ;  if  they 
are  ever  converted  to  Christianity,  it  must  probably  be  in 
consequence  of  our  setting  them  the  example  ;  were  we  to 
become  a  nation  of  Christians,  the  benevolent  endeavours 
of  the  virtuous  few  would  not  be  counteracted  and 
rendered  nugatory  by  the  labours  of  the  worthless  many ; 
we  should  provoke  no  hostilities  to  afford  us  a  pretext  to 
grasp  needless  territory,  that  cupidity  might  carve  out 
new  states  for  slaves  to  cultivate ;  but  independent  of  any 
advantages  likely  to  result  to  the  Indians,  I  think  it  would 
be  well  to  try  the  experimemt  for  our  own  sakes — we 
should,  I  take  it,  be  quite  as  happy  here,  and  none  the 
worse,  hereafter.  Our  newspapers,  it  is  true,  might  perhaps 
be  less  amusing  than  they  are  at  present;  we  might  have 
fewer  privateers  or  pirates  on  the  ocean,  and  mail  robbers 
and  murderers  on  the  land;  the  trade  of  the  kidnapper 
and  slave  dealer  might  languish,  and  incendiaries  become 
rare  in  our  cities  ;  our  honourable  men,  instead  of  blowing 
each  other's  brains  out,  if  they  have  any,  for  a  word,  or  a 
gesture,  might  be  more  afraid  of  everlasting  damnation 
than  of  the  momentary  laugh  of  fools;  but  upon  the  whole, 
I  think  our  respectability  would  be  no  wise  diminished." 


From  the  blood-stained  track  of  ruthless  war, 

An  Indian  boy  had  fled — 
Remote  from  his  home,  in  the  wild  woods  far, 

A  moss  bank  pillowed  his  head. 


136 

His  glossy  hair  was  damp  with  dew, 

His  air  was  mild  and  meek — 
And  it  seemed  that  a  straggling  tear  or  two, 

Had  wandered  down  his  cheek ; 

For  he  saw,  in  his  dream,  the  bayonets  gleam, 

He  saw  his  kindred  fall ; 
And  he  heard  his  mother's  dying  scream, 

And  the  crackling  flames  take  all. 

In  his  feverish  sleep  he  turned  and  rolled 
'Mid  the  fern  and  the  wild  flowers  gay; 

And  his  little  hand  fell  on  a  rattlesnake's  fold, 
As  coiled  in  the  herbage  it  lay. 

His  head  the  stately  reptile  raised, 

Unclosed  his  fiery  eye  ; 
On  the  sleeping  boy  for  a  moment  gazed, 

Then  passed  him  harmless  by. 

'Twas  well,  young  savage,  well  for  thee 

It  was  only  the  serpent's  lair, 
Thy  fate  perchance  would  different  be, 

Had  the  white  man  slumbered  there. 

His  short  nap  o'er,  uprose  the  child, 

His  lonely  way  to  tread  ; 
Through  the  deepest  gloom  of  the  forest  wild, 

His  pathless  journey  led. 


137 


Where  high  in  air  the  cypress  shakes 

His  mossy  tresses  wide  ; 
O'er  the  beaver's  stream,  and  the  dark  blue  lakes, 

Where  the  wild  duck  squadrons  ride. 

At  the  close  of  the  day  in  a  wildering  glen, 

A  covert  met  his  view  ; 
And  he  crept  well  pleased  in  the  sheltering  den, 

For  chilly  the  night  wind  blew. 

And  soon  his  weary  eyelids  close, 
Though  something  touched  his  ear, 

'Twas  only  the  famished  she-wolf's  nose, 
As  she  smelt  for  her  young  ones  near  : 

And  forth  she  hied  at  the  noon  of  night, 

To  seek  her  'customed  prey— 
And  the  Indian  boy,  at  the  peep  of  light, 

He  too  pursued  his  way. 

'Twas  well,  young  savage,  well  for  thee, 

It  was  only  the  wild  beast's  lair, 
Thy  fate  perchance  would  different  be 

Had  the  white  man  slumbered  there. 

But  where,  alas  !  poor  wanderer,  canst  thou  stray, 
Where  white  intruders  shall  molest  no  more? 

Like  ocean's  billows,  their  resistless  way 

A  whelming  deluge  spreads  from  shore  to  shore. 


18 


138 


Their  onward  march,  insatiate  as  the  grave, 
Still  shall  they  hold,  to  province  province  join ; 

Till  bounded  by  the  broad  Pacific's  wave, 
Their  giant  empire  seas  alone  confine. 

And  lo  !  their  missions  distant  climes  explore, 

To  spread  the  joyful  gospel  tidings  far- 
While  wrapt  in  tenfold  darkness,  at  their  door, 
The  forest's  children  find  no  guiding  star. 

But  oh  !  my  country  !  though  neglect  alone 
Were  crime  sufficient — deeper  guilt  is  thine  ; 

Thy  sins  of  crimson,  added  to  his  own, 

Have  crushed  the  savage  with  a  weight  malign. 

We  seize  the  comforts  bounteous  Heaven  has  given, 
With  strange  diseases  vex  hirn  from  his  birth  j 

We  soothe  his  sorrows  with  no  hopes  of  heaven, 
Yet  drive  him  headlong  from  his  home  on  earth. 

As  shrinks  the  stubble  from  the  rushing  blaze, 
Or  feathery  snow  from  summer's  tepid  air ; 

So  at  our  withering  touch  his  race  decays, 
By  whiskey  poisoned,  all  that  war  may  spare. 

But  can  the  Power,  whose  awful  mandate  rolled 
This  globe  abroad,  and  gave  all  nations  birth ; 

Can  He,-  the  source  of  being,  pleased  behold 
A  people  perish  from  the  uncumbered  earth  ? 


139 


No — from  their  slumber  let  the  good  and  wise 
At  length  awaken,  and  their  task  begin  ; 

Reform — enlighten — soften — christianise 
The  border  savage,  with  the  paler  skin. 

Then  lead  the  wild  man  of  the  forest  forth, 
With  kindness  lure  him ;  to  his  eye  disclose 

A  new  creation— make  him  feel  the  worth 
Of  all  industry  on  a  land  bestows. 

The  page  of  knowledge  to  his  view  unroll, 
The  charms  of  virtue  to  his  mind  display ; 

And  open  wide  on  his  benighted  soul 
The  full  effulgence  of  the  Gospel  Day. 


No.  X. 

I  went  this  afternoon  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  neighbour 
Ephraim ;  indeed  I  find  his  cheerful  fire-side  so  much 
more  pleasant  than  my  own  little  solitary  dwelling,  that  I 
am  afraid  I  go  there  rather  too  often :  however,  as  yet,  I 
have  not  remarked  any  coldness  or  distance  in  their 
reception  of  me.  Ephraim  had  been  a  little  indisposed, 
and  I  found  him  reclining  on  the  sofa;  his  wife  was 
preparing  something  comfortable  for  him  by  the  fire,  and 


140 

his  daughter,  having  arranged  his  pillow  to  his  mind,  sat 
with  her  work  at  his  feet,  while  Ezekiel  read  to  him — his 
other  son  was  engaged  in  superintending  the  business  of 
the  farm ;  but  when  the  hour  of  tea  approached,  he  joined 
the  circle  in  the  parlour  with  a  smiling  countenance, 
cheeks  glowing  with  health  and  an  appetite  in  no  wise 
diminished  by  the  exercise  of  the  day.  When  I  returned 
to  my  own  lonely  habitation,  I  could  not  avoid  contrasting 
a  little  my  situation  with  that  of  my  old  friend.  Happy 
Ephraim  !  said  I,  thou  hast  an  excellent  wife,  and  dutiful 
daughter,  to  smooth  the  pillow  for  thy  aching  head,  to 
hover  with  feathery  footsteps  around  thy  peaceful  couch, 
and  watch  over  thy  slumbers  with  the  assiduity  of  anxious 
love — thou  hast  two  manly  intelligent  sons  to  attend  to 
thy  business,  to  protect  thy  interests,  and  support  thy 
tottering  steps ;  whose  only  strife  is  that  of  kindness, 
whose  only  rivalship,  which  shall  be  most  attentive  to  thee ; 
each  of  whom  would  gladly  say  with  the  poet, 

"Me  may  the  gentle  office  long  engage, 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age." 

And  when  at  last  in  a  good  old  age  thou  shalt  be 
gathered  to  thy  fathers,  a  train  of  mourning  relatives  shall 
deposit  with  decent  care  thy  cherished  remains  in  the 
narrow  house  appointed  for  all  living ;  while  I  stand  alone 
in  the  world,  an  insulated,  insignificant  being,  for  whom  no 
one  feels  an  interest,  and  whose  pains  and  pleasures  are  of 
consequence  to  no  one  ;  whose  approach  is  greeted  with  no 
smile,  and  whose  departure  excites  no  regret ;  and  when 


141 

the  closing  scene  approaches,  no  kindred  hand  shall  support 
my  throbbing  temples,  or  prepare  the  potion  for  my  feverish  . 
lips,  but  mercenary  eyes,  alone,  mark,  with  ill-disguised 
impatience,  the  uncertain  flutter  of  the  lingering  pulse; 
mercenary  attendants,  only,  receive  with  frigid  indifference 
the  last  farewell  of  the  departing  spirit — 

"By  strangers'  hands,  my  dying  eyes  be  closed, 
By  strangers'  hands,  my  lifeless  limbs  composed." 

Lost  in  a  train  of  such  like  melancholy  musings,  and 
pondering  on  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future,  I  had 
suffered  my  fire  to  become  nearly  extinguished,  and  the 
feeble  glimmer  of  my  untrimmed  taper  faintly  illuminated 
my  little  study,  when  I  was  roused  from  my  reverie  by  the 
entrance  of  Ezekiel  and  his  sister.  The  good  girl  said 
she  had  remarked  that  I  was  more  silent  than  usual,  and 
as  the  evening  was  fine,  they  had  come  over  to  see  if  I 
was  unwell.  This  little  act  of  kindness,  though  in  itself  no 
way  remarkable,  yet  coming  at  such  a  moment  affected  me 
not  a  little.  But  I  must  shake  off  this  gloom  and  depression 
of  spirits.  I  am  not  now  to  learn  that  the  world  had  much 
rather  laugh  with  or  at  a  man,  than  mourn  with  him ;  I 
did  not  sit  down  to  lament  the  desolation  of  my  own 
situation  which  cannot  now  be  remedied,  but  to  exhort  the 
young  to  get  married,  to  encourage  them  by  the  example 
of  Ephraim,  and  to  warn  them  from  my  own.  "Do 
nothing  in  a  hurry,"  is  an  excellent  maxim  in  the  main; 
but  in  some  cases  it  is  possible  to  use  too  much  deliberation. 
In  the  important  business  of  taking  a  wife,  many  a  man  has 


14*2 

debated,  and  deliberated,  until  the  season  for  acting  has 
passed  away.  An  old  fellow  like  myself  has  little  to  do 
in  the  world  but  to  talk  for  the  benefit  of  his  neighbours ; 
and  I  would  willingly  devote  my  experience  to  the  service 
of  the  rising  generation.  I  should  feel  no  objection  to 
narrate  the  disastrous  consequences  of  my  own  superabun 
dant  caution  in  the  affair  of  matrimony,  and  to  enumerate 
the  many  eligible  matches  which  have  slipped  through  my 
ringers;  the  opportunities  to  form  advantageous  connections 
which  have  been  unimproved,  in  consequence  of  my 
hesitation  and  indecision  ;  for  I  have  now  no  plans  to  be 
defeated,  or  prospects  blasted,  by  a  knowledge  of  my 
failings,  and  no  vanity  to  be  mortified  by  the  exposure  of 
my  disappointments ;  but  I  am  apprehensive  the  detail 
might  prove  rather  tedious  and  uninteresting.  I  may 
however  mention  a  few  circumstances  attending  my  last 
attempt  to  obtain  an  helpmate,  if  attempt  it  may  be  called. 
I  had  become  acquainted  in  the  family  of  a  respectable 
farmer  who  had  a  daughter  of  a  suitable  age ;  and  though 
I  cannot  say  that 

"  Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love," 

yet  her  correct  and  orderly  deportment  seemed  to  promise 
that  she  would  make  an  excellent  wife :  I  was  therefore 
pretty  frequent  in  my  visits,  and  though  on  these  occasions 
my  discourse  was  principally  if  not  entirely  addressed  to 
the  parents,  yet  I  kept  a  sharp  eye  upon  the  daughter,  in 
order  to  endeavour  to  form  a  tolerable  estimate  of  her 


143 

disposition  and  character ;  and  as  I  had  in  those  days  a 
handsome  little  estate  at  my  own  disposal,  and  was  upon 
the  whole  considered  rather  a  promising  young  man,  my 
company  seemed  always  very  acceptable,  to  the  father  and 
mother  at  least.  In  this  manner  eight  or  ten  months, 
perhaps,  passed  pleasantly  away,  and  I  was  beginning  to 
think  that  I  might  before  long  venture  to  address  her  with 
a  little  freedom  and  familiarity,  preparatory  to  a  serious 
negotiation,  when  all  my  plans  were  defeated,  and  my 
visionary  castle  crumbled  into  dust,  by  the  precipitation  of 
others.  One  evening  I  was  sitting  with  them  as  usual, 
when  after  a  little  time,  the  father  and  mother,  on  some 
occasion,  absented  themselves  from  the  room,  and  left  the 
daughter  and  myself  together ;  as  I  had  not  the  most 
distant  suspicion  that  there  was  any  design  in  their 
movements,  and  expected  their  return  every  moment,  I 
took  up  the  almanac  (being  fond  of  reading),  and  had  just 
got  cleverly  through  it  when  they  returned :  I  thought  I 
remarked  something  particularly  scrutinising  in  the  looks 
of  the  mother,  but  I  believe  she  soon  discovered  that  I  had 
done  nothing  but  read  the  almanac.  On  my  next  visit  I 
felt  no  small  trepidation,  having  a  strong  suspicion  of  what 
might  occur ;  and,  in  fact,  we  were  again  soon  left  alone 
together — and  now  the  consciousness  of  what  was  expected, 
kept  me  as  silent  as  ignorance  had  done  before;  in  my 
distress  I  looked  about  for  the  almanac,  but  they  had  taken 
it  away ;  in  vain  I  endeavoured  to  find  something  to  say ; 
my  faculties  seemed  spell-bound,  and  I  sat,  I  know  not 
how  long,  in  a  pitiable  state  of  confusion  and  embarrassment, 
until  my  companion  made  some  remark  respecting  the 


144 


weather ;  this  was  a  great  relief — I  immediately  proceeded 
to  treat  of  the  weather  in  all  its  bearings,  past,  present,  and 
to  come,  and  strove  to  prolong  the  discussion  until  some 
one  might  come  in,  but  in  vain.  The  subject  at  length 
became  exhausted,  and  silence  again  took  place,  which 
lasted  so  long,  and  became  so  glaringly  ridiculous,  that  in 
utter  despair,  I  was  upon  the  point  of  having  recourse  to 
the  weather  again,  when  we  were  relieved  by  the  entrance 
of  company.  Determined  never  again  to  cut  so  silly  a 
figure,  I  resolved  to  provide  against  my  next  visit  a  fund 
of  agreeable  conversation.  I  accordingly  brushed  up  my 
acquaintance  with  the  philosophy  of  Aristotle,  and  of  the 
peripatetics  generally;  collected  some  anecdotes  of  the  wise 
men  of  Greece,  and  not  to  lack  matters  of  more  recent  date, 
stored  my  memory  with  a  few  amusing  particulars  respect 
ing  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  and  of  the  court  of  Elizabeth. 
Thus  prepared,  I  ventured  once  more  to  make  my  appear 
ance,  but  I  had  no  opportunity  to  say  a  word  about 
Aristotle  or  the  Q,ueen  of  Scots ;  it  was  rather  late  when  I 
entered  the  room,  and  I  found  my  intended  in  earnest 
conversation  with  a  young  man,  who  had  drawn  his  chair 
very  near  to  her:  their  discourse  seemed  to  be  of  an 
interesting  nature,  but  they  spoke  in  so  low  a  tone  that  I 
was  unable  to  profit  by  their  remarks.  I  observed,  at  last, 
that  they  frequently  smiled  when  looking  towards  me,  and 
as  I  love  a  cheerful  countenance,  and  smiling  is  certainly 
contagious,  I  smiled  a  good  deal  too ;  this  seemed  wonder 
fully  to  promote  their  risibility,  and  my  laughter  increasing 
in  the  same  proportion,  we  had  a  deal  of  merriment, 
although  little  or  nothing  was  said.  How  long  this  might 


145 


have  continued,  I  know  not,  had  not  my  intended  father- 
in-law  called  me  aside,  and  hinted  that  as  the  night  was 
dark,  and  there  was  some  appearance  of  rain,  I  had  perhaps 
better  return.  I  thanked  him  for  his  truly  paternal  care, 
and  accordingly  took  my  departure  in  high  good  humour, 
and  the  next  week  was  informed  that  the  young  people 
were  married. 


*V   fit 
*       'f 


19 


146 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 


To  scenes  sequestered  from  the  world's  applause. 

In  vain  the  Lily  of  the  Vale  withdraws, 

In  vain  to  veil,  with  graceful  bend,  she  tries, 

Her  snowy  bosom  from  th'  enraptured  gaze, 
In  vain  she  bids  protecting  foliage  rise — 

Surrounding  sweetness  her  retreat  betrays. 

So,  though  o'ershadowed  by  misfortune's  gloom. 
Through  time,  obscurely  may  the  good  man  move- 

His  blameless  life  ascends  a  sweet  perfume, 
And  angels  view  him  with  the  smiles  of  love. 


147 


PETER'S  RIDE  TO  THE  WEDDING. 

WRITTEN  FOR  THE  AMUSEMENT  OF  A  CHILD. 

Peter  would  go  to  the  wedding,  he  would, 

So  he  saddled  his  ass — and  his  wife  ; 
She  was  to  ride  behind,  if  she  could, 
For  says  Peter,  says  he,  "  the  woman  she  should 

Follow,  not  lead,  through  life. 

"  He  's  mighty  convenient,  the  ass,  my  dear, 

And  gentle  and  safe,  and  now 
You  stick  by  the  tail,  while  I  stick  by  the  ear, 
And  we  '11  get  to  the  wedding  in  time,  never  fear, 

If  the  wind  and  the  weather  allow." 

The  wind  and  the  weather  were  not  to  be  blamed, 

But  the  ass,  he  had  let  in  a  whim, 
That  two  at  a  time  was  a  load  never  framed 
For  the  back  of  one  ass,  and  he  seemed  quite  ashamed 

That  two  should  be  stuck  upon  him. 

"  Come,  Dobbin,"  says  Peter,  "  I  'm  thinking  we  '11  trot :" 

"  I  'm  thinking  we  wont,"  says  the  ass, 
(In  the  language  of  conduct,)  and  stuck  to  the  spot, 
As  though  he  had  said  he  had  sooner  be  shot, 

Than  lift  up  a  toe  from  the  grass. 


148 

Says  Peter,  says  he,  "  I  '11  whip  him  a  little  ;" 

«  Try  it,  my  dear,"  says  she  : 

But  he  might  just  as  well  have  whipped  a  brass  kettle. 
The  ass  he  was  made  of  such  obstinate  mettle 

That  never  a  step  moved  he. 

"  I  '11  prick  him,  my  dear,  with  a  needle — the  steel 

May  possibly  alter  his  mind;" 
The  ass  felt  the  needle,  and  up  went  his  heel, 
"  I  'm  thinking,"  says  Peter,  "  he 's  seeming  to  feel 

Some  notion  of  moving  behind." 

(C  Now  give  me  the  needle,  I  '11  tickle  his  ear, 

And  set  t'other  end,  too,  a  going ;" 
The  ass  felt  the  needle,  and  upwards  he  reared, 
But  kicking  and  rearing  were  all,  it  appeared, 

He  had  any  intention  of  doing. 

Says  Peter,  says  he,  "  We  are  getting  on  slow, 

While  one  end  is  up,  t'other  sticks  to  the  ground, 
But  I  'm  thinking  a  method  to  match  him  I  know, 
We  '11  let,  for  an  instant,  both  tail  and  ear  go, 
And  spur  him  at  once  all  around." 

So  said  so  done — all  hands  were  a  spurring, 

And  the  ass  he  did  alter  his  mind — 
For  off  went  he,  like  a  partridge  whirring, 
And  got  to  the  wedding  while  all  were  a  stirring, 
— left  his  load  behind. 


149 


REFLECTIONS. 

Awake,  thou  that  sleepest,  and  arise  from  the  dead,  and  Christ  shall  give 
thee  light." 

To  those  who  are  awake — for  there  are  those 
Who  sleep — and  whose  repose  is  so  profound 
The  vapours  of  this  world  have  so  obscured 
Their  vision  of  futurity,  and  thrown 
Such  midnight  darkness  o'er  the  realm  of  thought. 
They  scarce  will  waken,  till  the  thrilling  peal 
Of  the  last  trumpet,  tells  that  time  's  no  more. 

To  those  who  are  awake,  and  who  have  weighed 

The  worth  of  temporal,  and  eternal  things, 

Who  view  this  present  transient  mode  of  being 

As  but  the  infancy  of  life  eternal, 

The  morning  of  a  never-ending  day ; 

And  this  fair  world,  with  all  its  checkered  scenes 

Of  sunshine  and  of  shade — of  joy  and  sorrow — 

As  but  a  school  of  discipline,  to  train 

The  immortal  spirit  for  its  final  home  : 

To  these,  how  frivolous  and  futile  seem 

The  fleeting  joys,  the  transitory  cares, 

The  fears  and  wishes  terminating  here. 

The  idols  of  the  sleepers — wealth,  fame,  power, 


150 

In  senseless  worship  at  whose  crimsoned  shrine, 
Thousands  have  offered,  and  are  hourly  offering 
All  that  can  make  existence  worth  possessing. 
Peace  here,  and  future  everlasting  bliss, 
They  rate  at  their  true  value — worthless  toys — 
Baubles  of  full-grown  children — shadowy  dreams, 
Luring  the  soul  from  its  high  destination 
And  whelming  all  its  noblest  hopes  in  dust. 

Yes,  there  are  those  who  sleep — as  though  secure 
Their  dream  would  last  for  ever — beings  destined 
For  an  eternity  of  bliss  or  wo, — 
Are  slumbering  through  the  hour  of  their  probation, 
As  though  it  were  indeed  an  endless  sleep — 
Wrapping  themselves  in  darkness,  they  have  built 
A  wall  of  brass  between  their  souls  and  heaven. 
And  lo  !  Time  passes  with  impetuous  pinion, 
Wide  yawns  the  grave,  and  Death  is  on  his  way, 
And  the  last  trump  may  rouse  them  but  to  hear 
The  righteous  Judge  of  quick  and  dead,  pronounce 
The  eternal  doom — "  Depart,  I  know  ye  not !" 

O  that  these  slumberers  in  Egyptian  darkness 
Might  yet  behold  the  star  of  Bethlehem  rise  ! 
And  turn  and  listen  to  the  still  small  voice 
That  whispers  to  the  soul — "wake,  thou  that  sleepest, 
Rise  from  the  dead,  and  Christ  shall  give  thee  light." 

To  him  who  is  awake — who  bears  in  mind 
His  origin,  and  nature,  and  the  purpose 


151 


For  which  Almighty  Goodness  placed  him  here, 

Who  feels  his  own  unworthiness,  and  mourns 

O'er  the  sad  record  of  departed  years. 

The  appal  ing  catalogue  of  sins  committed, 

Duties  neglected — talents  misapplied, 

Of  slighted  mercies,  and  of  wasted  time ; 

How  infinitely  awful  is  the  prospect 

Of  that  eventful,  fast-approaching  hour, 

When  all  things  here  must  vanish  from  his  view— 

What  fearful  scenes  of  everlasting  moment 

Crowd  on  his  vision,  and  distract  his  soul ! 

A  fading  world — a  disembodied  spirit ! 

A  final  judgment — an  eternal  doom  ! 

And  scarcely  hoping  that  the  faltering  prayer 

May  yet  be  noticed,  all  that  he  can  utter 

Is,  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner  ! 

For  well  he  knows  that  HE,  the  eternal  One, 

Hath  other  attributes  than  that  of  mercy, 

And  that  howe'er  unwelcome  the  reflection, 

"  A  God  all  mercy  were  a  God  unjust." 

To  him  how  precious  the  consoling  tidings 
That  help  is  laid  on  One  who  died  to  save ! 
In  whom  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead  dwells  ; 
Who,  led  by  Love,  to  appease  offended  Justice, 
Became  himself  the  sacrifice  for  sin, 
Nailing  offences  to  his  cross,  and  giving 
Eternal  life  to  all  who  come  to  him ; 
O  !  well  may  those  who  take  his  yoke  upon  them. 
Whose  yoke  is  easy,  and  his  burden  light, 


152 


Exclaim,  in  tones  of  grateful  exultation, 
"  O  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ?  O  Death  !  where  is  thy 
sting  ?" 

O  Holy  One  !  thy  ransomed  and  redeemed 
May  well  regard  thee  with  adoring  love, 
For  pardon  purchased  with  thy  precious  blood, 
And  mansions  promised  in  the  realms  of  bliss  : 
And  oh  !  discarded  every  selfish  thought, 
Well  may  they  love  thee  for  thyself  alone  ; 
Desiring  to  be  any  thing,  or  nothing, 
As  most  accordant  to  thy  holy  will ; 
Lost,  like  the  rain-drop  in  the  unfathomed' ocean, 
Their  souls  may  long  to  be  absorbed  in  thee  ! 
Loving,  because  they  are  constrained  to  love  thee, 
Drawn  to  thy  feet  by  motives  such  as  lead 
The  tottering  infant  to  its  father's  arms ; 
Loving,  because  it  is  delight  to  love  thee ; 
Believing,  though  not  seeing,  and  rejoicing 
With  joy  unspeakable,  and  full  of  glory. 


153 


STANZAS. 

When  I  look  round,  and  see  the  love,  the  care, 
Of  boundless  goodness  fill  the  smiling  land, 

Existence  spread  through  ocean,  earth,  and  air, 
And  beauty  lavished  with  exhaustless  hand, 

Can  I  pass  on  "  with  brute  unconscious  gaze,"     , 

Nor  with  one  faltering  accent  whisper  praise? 

Prom  those  bright  orbs,  which,  through  the  realm  of  space, 

Pursue,  majestic,  their  unvarying  way, 
Down  through  creation,  far  as  man  may  trace 

Of  power  almighty  the  sublime  display : 
All  that  I  see  and  feel,  combine  to  prove, 
That  power  is  governed  by  unbounded  love. 

What  vivid  hues  the  floral  tribes  adorn  ! 

What  fragrance  floats  upon  the  gales  of  even ! 
What  floods  of  radiance  gild  the  unfolding  morn  ! 

And  dazzling  splendour  gems  the  midnight  heaven  ! 
What  glorious  scenes  on  every  hand  impart 
A  glow  of  transport  to  the  untainted  heart ! 

How  sweet,  though  transient,  man  !  thy  tarriance  here, 
If  peace  around  thee  spread  her  cheering  rays, 

If  conscience  whispers  in  thy  trembling  ear 
No  tale  unpleasing  of  departed  days, 
20 


154 

Then  smile  exulting  at  me  lapse  ol  time 
Which  wafts  thee  gently  to  a  happier  clime. 

Saw'st  thou  the  worm  his  humble  path  pursue, 
To  varied  dangers,  doubts,  and  fears,  a  prey  ? 

Joy  in  his  cup  some  sweet  ingredients  threw, 
But  darkness  snatched  him  from  the  treat  away ; 

The  poor  chrysalis,  in  his  lonely  grave, 

Seemed  sinking  hopeless  in  oblivion's  wave. 

But  lo  !  what  magic  bursts  the  dreary  tomb  \ 

What  voice  angelic  bids  the  sleeper  rise  ! 
He  wakes,  arrayed  in  beauty's  living  bloom, 

His  new-born  plumage  tinged  with  rainbow  dyes  j; 
In  air  gay  floating,  while  the  sunbeam  flings 
A  blaze  of  splendour  o'er  his  glossy  wings. 

Thy  emblem  this  !  for  death  must  quickly  hide- 

This  fair  creation  from  thy  raptured  eye ; 
Thy  fragile  form,  to  the  poor  worm  allied, 

Cold  and  unconscious  in  the  grave  must  lie  ;. 
But  can  the  shackles  of  the  tomb  control 
This  active  spirit,  this  aspiring  soul  1 

No  f  there  are  worlds,  in  bloom  immortal  drestr 
Where  love  divine  in  full  effulgence  glows, 

Where,  safely  centered  in  eternal  rest, 
Departed  spirits  of  the  good  repose ; 

With  powers  enlarged  their  Maker's  works  explore,. 

And  find,  thro'  endless  years,  new  cause  to  wonder  and  adore. 


155 


TO  A,  B,  C,  &  CO. 


Ye  wee  bit,  crooked  things !  I  mind 
The  time  when  first  I  spied  your  faces, 

And  found — no  trifling  job  to  find — 

That  I  must  learn  your  names  and  places. 

My  grandsire,  with  well-meaning  care, 
Bore  me  to  where  the  mistress  she  was 

Hard  at  ye — but  naught  fancying  there, 
I  was  at  home  as  soon  as  he  was. 

0  't  was  a  most  unsavoury  measure, 
To  take  a  weentie,  small  as  me, 

From  all  his  young  heart  knew  of  pleasure, 
And  bind  him  down  to  A,  B,  C. 

1  liked  ye  not — I  '11  ne'er  deny  it — 

And  did  my  best  the  dose  to  shun, 

But  scolded,  flattered,  shamed,  to  try  it, 

Ye  all  were  swallowed,  one  by  one. 


156 

For  ye  are  pills  that  every  wee  thing, 
Is,  will  he,  nill  he.  doomed  to  take, 

Like  measles,  itch,  small-pox,  or  teething, 
Whate'er  wry  faces  he  may  make. 

And  now  I  love  ye  well,  I'm  thinking, 
Acquaintance  wears  disgust  away  ; 

Even  smoking,  hanging,  snuffing,  drinking, 
But  few  admire  at  first,  they  say. 

Aye  !  and  at  times  my  bosom  feels 
Some  pity  for  the  life  ye  're  leading, 

By  blockheads  gripit,  neck  and  heels, 
And  twisted  into  wretched  reading. 

In  dead  born  volumes — never  read — 
From  age  to  age  ye  lumbering  lie, 

Where  old  housekeeping  spiders  spread 
Their  bits  of  weaving  out  to  dry. 

And  oft  in  flimsy  novels  worn, 

Till  folk  may  see  ye  through  and  through, 
And  oft  by  reckless  urchins  torn, 

For  they  must  have  their  novels  too. 

O  books  !  books  !  books  ! — it  makes  me  sick 
To  think  me  how  ye  're  multiplied  ; 

Like  Egypt's  frogs,  ye  poke  up  thick 
Your  ugly  heads  on  every  side. 


157 

If  a  young  thought  but  shake  its  ear, 
Or  wag  its  tail,  though  starved  it  look, 

The  world  the  precious  news  must  hear, 
The  presses  groan,  and  lo  !  a  Book. 

Some  busy  trifler  travels — dies — 
Commits  a  murder,  plays  or  sings — 

Makes  silly  speeches,  gathers  flies, 

Or  rhymes — and  forth  a  volume  springs  ! 

A  host  of  worthies,  stimulated 

By  hope  of  pudding  or  of  praise, 
Serve  up,  for  stomachs  sick  and  sated, 

Their  vapid  flummery  fifty  ways. 

O,  if  one  half — and  may  be  t'  other, 

Were  fairly  in  the  Red  Sea  tost, 
And  left  with  Pharaoh's  host  to  smother, 

Little  worth  keeping  would  be  lost. 

However  we  may  find,  no  doubt, 

Some  crumbs  of  comfort — and  we  need  'em ; 
Knowing,  we  are,  though  books  come  out, 

Not  absolutely  forced  to  read  'em. 

Aweel,  poor  things  !  ye  mind  me,  too, 

Of  blessed  hours  for  ever  past, . 
When  o'er  life's  morning  fresh  and  new, 

The  star  of  joy  its  radiance  cast. 


158 

When  dear  delusive  hope  exposed 
Her  rainbow-tinted  scenes  before  me, 

And  those  loved  eyes  that  death  has  closed, 
Watched  with  parental  fondness  o'er  me. 

But  hold ;  we  Ve  doubtless  shown  a  sample, 

Sufficient,  of  our  tediousness, 
And  now  must  set  a  good  example, 

By  thinking  more,  and  scribbling  less. 


159 


TO  A  TOAD  IN  A  STRAWBERRY  BED. 

IN  THE  MANNER  OF  SOME  MODERN  SONNETS. 

"~">vi.i,."*  '     '• 

What  varied  charms  adorn  thy  dwelling,  toad  ! 

The  breath  of  fragrance  all  around  thee  spread — 
Luxuriant  foliage  veils  thy  cool  abode, 

And  crimson  clusters  shade  thy  auburn  head. 

Encircling  sweets  invite  thy  dubious  lip, 
Soft  breezes  lull  thee  to  serene  repose, 

And  liquid  crystal  tempts  thy  tongue  to  sip 
The  dew-drop  falling  from  the  unfolding  rose. 

Child  of  the  dust,  then  I  while  thou  may'st  partake, 
Enjoy  thy  blessings,  while  the  power  is  thine, 

For  ere  an  hour  rolls  by,  some  hungry  snake, 
For  aught  I  know,  shall  on  thy  carcass  dine. 


160 


TO   MY   TREES, 

ON  WALKING   IN  MY  WOODLANDS. 

Ye  laugh,  ye  rogues  !  to  see  me  walkin' 
Among  ye  now,  an'  wag  your  heads ; 

You've  heard,  nae  doubt,  there's  so  much  talkin', 
I've  got  me  coal  from  Lehigh  beds. 

Aye,  ye  may  see  me  saunterin'  under 
Your  branches  now  without  a  fear ; 

I  come  not  now  your  ranks  to  plunder — 
Ye  may  laugh  on  another  year, 

I  like,  right  weel,  to  see  ye  growin' 

Like  brethren,  pleasantly  together 
All.  sheltering  each  when  winds  are  blowin', 

Or  drouth  prevails  in  swelterin'  weather. 

I  like,  right  weel,  to  see  ye  shakin' 

Your  glossy  foliage  high  in  air, 
And  hear  the  breeze  and  birdies  makin' 

A  joyous  din  of  music  there. 

I  like,  right  weel,  to  wander  near  ye, 

When  the  storm  grappleth  with  your  boughs  ; 

And  yet  not  over  nigh,  for  fear  ye 

Might  let  some  cracked  one  crack  my  brows. 


161 


Yes,  lads  !  I'm  thinkin'  not  to  burn  ye— 
The  inky  chunks  Mauch  Chunk  produces 

Will,  may  be,  warm — and  let  me  turn  ye, 
When  ripe  in  age,  to  other  uses. 

I  '11  not  just  say  for  what  I  '11  take  ye — 
My  wife  will  hang  her  claes  to  dry, 

An'  want  twa  posts — an'  I  may  make  me 
A  pen  to  hold  the  pig  an'  kye ; 

An'  should  the  public  take  a  whim 
To  hang  a  banking  rogue  or  twa,* 

Ye  '11  no  object  to  lend  a  limb 
For  sic  a  purpose,  any  day. 

Ye  need  na  all  be  harigin'  trees-^ 
An'  yet  the  observer  might  not  wrang  us, 

Who  should  suppose,  from  what  he  sees, 
Such  wood  is  wanted  much  amang  us. 

Well,  fare  ye  weel ;  but  this  I'  11  tell  ye— 
If  these  coal-heavers  hold  so  high 

Their  stuff,  I  may  be  fain  to  sell  ye, 
To  get  wherewith  that  stuff  to  buy. 

*  Several  banks  had  stopped  payment  about  that  time. 


162 


SCRAPS  FROM  MY  PORT  FOLIO. 


"Now,  Timothy,  don't  be  always  poring-  over  them 
wearisome  papers  and  accounts,"  said  Experience,  "  there 's 
never  no  use  in  such  an  everlasting  worrying  about  what 
can't  be  helped ;  but  if  you  must  be  writing,  do  write 
something  to  the  purpose — write  to  the  steamboat  folks 
about  another  season  ticket  j  time's  going  on.'7  "  Why  rny 
dear,"  says  I,  "  there  is  perhaps,  as  thou  say'st,  no  great 
use  in  worrying  about  what  cannot  be  remedied,  but  these 
same  papers  afford  me  some  little  amusement,  rather  a 
scarce  article  with  me  now-a-days  ;  they  are  mementos  of 
many  mistakes  and  mishaps,  it  is  true,  but  they  remind 
me  also  of  by-gone  hours  of  quietness  and  comfort ;  and 
when  the  reality  is  gone,  the  recollection  is  better  than 
nothing ;  however,  possibly,  I  may  write  somewhat  about 
the  steamboat."  "  Oh,  well  then,"  says  she,  "  I  '11  just  tell 
Biddy  to  let  Seraphina  know  that  we  shall  be  in  town  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  see  her  and 
the  children,  and  I'm  afraid  if  she  don't  get  word  immedi 
ately,  they  '11  be  all  here  first."  "  Well  then.  Experience, 
as  thou  art  only  anxious  to  see  them,  omit  sending  word, 
and  peradventure  it  may  come  to  pass  without  thy  being 
obliged  to  leave  home."  "It  may  peradventure  come  to 


163 


pass,"  said  she ;  "yes,. I  suppose  it  may  come  to  pass,  but  I 
don't  want  it  to  come  to  pass,  and  it  sha'nt  come  to  pass — 
why  it  will  be  warm  weather  directly,  and  then  they  must 
all  come  into  the  country  after  the  air,  you  know ;  and 
then  what  chance,  I  wonder,  will  Biddy  and  I  have  of 
getting  to  town  before  every  thing  is  frozen  up,  and  the 
steamboat  done  again."  Seeing  she  seemed  to  be  getting 
a  little  warm,  and  knowing  her  to  be  somewhat  tonguey 
at  times,  I  thought  it  best  to  drop  the  subject,  and  quietly 
turn  to  my  writing.  This  Seraphina,  that  Experience 
was  so  anxious  to  see,  was  Seraphina  Adelina  Snipitoff, 
wife  of  our  cousin  Moses  Snipitoff,  pretty  largely  in  the 
man-milliner  and  variety  line  :  they  were  originally  merely 
Snipits,  but  some  years  back  Seraphina,  being  a  great 
admirer  of  the  emperor  Alexander,  insisted  that  Moses 
should  put  what  she  called  a  "  Russian  extermination"  to 
his  name,  and  accordingly  they  became  Snipitoffs.  Our 
family  name  is  Goadenough,  and  its  origin,  like  most 
others  of  much  antiquity,  is  involved  in  some  obscurity ; 
but  it  was  probably  given  to  my  ancestor,  as  being  some 
what  descriptive  of  his  activity  in  business,  and  the 
liberality  with  which  he  applied  the  stimulus  of  the  goad 
to  his  cattle,  allowing  little  grass  to  grow  under  them  when 
at  labour.  Be  this  as  it  may,  my  immediate  predecessors 
were  certainly  industrious,  pains-taking,  prudent  people, 
carefully  looking  both  before  and  after,  and  consequently 
became  well  to  live  in  the  world ;  so  I  am  one  of  those 
whose  father,  as  the  saying  is,  was  born  before  him ;  not 
that  I  inherited  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  live  in  idleness, 
had  I  been  silly  enough  to  wish  it,  but  I  had  a  handsome 


164 


beginning,  arid  with  the  aid  of  my  wife  was  getting  along 
tolerably  well ;  I  say  with  the  aid  of  my  wife,  for  I  find  that 
without  that  aid,  little  can  be  done  to  purpose.  Some  time 
after  Experience  became  intimate  with  Seraphina,  she 
discovered  that  our  name  had  a  vulgar,  disagreeable, 
uncouth  sort  of  a  sound,  and  endeavoured  to  soften  and 
civilise  it,  as  she  said,  into  Goodenough.  "  No,  no,  said 
I,  it  is  ill  tampering  with  a  creditable  name,  and  unhappily 
we  are  far  enough  from  good  enough ;  but  if  there  must 
be  an  alteration,  I'm  thinking  that  Gadenough  might  not 
be  amiss,  considering  thy  present  habits." 

Since  then  we  have  had,  occasionally,  squabbles  on  this 
point,  but  the  matter  has  never  been  definitively  settled. 
For  many  years  we  led  a  peaceful  and  contented,  if  not  a 
happy,  life.  Experience,  though  perhaps  her  price  was  not 
above  rubies,  was  certainly  an  active,  bustling  woman ; 
our  daughter  Biddy  was  cheerful  at  her  sewing,  or  her 
wheel ;  and  my  son  Marmaduke  and  I,  after  moderate 
labour,  enjoyed  with  genuine  relish  our  frugal  meal  and 
untroubled  slumber,  and  we  might  possibly  have  passed 
thus  pleasantly  on  to  the  termination  of  our  pilgrimage, 
but  for  a  summer  visitation,  which  our  cousins,  the  aforesaid 
SnipitorTs,  inflicted  upon  us  in  pursuit  of  air.  By  the  way, 
I  may  observe,  that  one  might  be  led  to  suppose  there  was 
in  summer,  little  or  no  air  to  be  found  in  the  city,  and  no 
sun  nor  dust  in  the  country.  Formerly,  some  over-fed 
nabob,  perhaps,  laden  with  more  wealth  and  pomposity 
than  was  convenient  in  the  dog-days,  might  disencumber 
himself  a  little  at  a  watering  place ;  and  now  and  then  a 


165 

rickety  infant,  hardly  worth  raising,  but  which  did  not 
choose  to  die,  and  which  the  town  doctors  were  tired  of 
seeing,  would  be  sent  off  to  the  country ;  otherwise,  little 
was  done  in  this  way,  except  indeed  the  praiseworthy 
sabbath-day  "incursions,"  as  Seraphina  says,  of  a  numerous 
class,  to  the  habitations  of  such  of  their  acquaintance  as 
were,  unluckily,  near  enough,  and  vain  enough,  and  good- 
humoured  enough,  to  be  eaten  up,  and  laughed  at. 
But  now,  thanks  to  the  all-accommodating  steamboat,  no 
sooner  can  the  weather  with  any  decency  be  called  warm, 
than  away  they  scour — not  only  the  female  appendages  of 
the  important  man  of  law,  or  physic,  or  merchandise,  but 
those  also  of  the  eleventh  deputy  of  his  fifteenth  clerk,  are 
all  off  in  quest  of  air.  But  to  return  :  Seraphina  Adelina 
Snipitoff  and  her  daughters  were  dashing,  showy  person 
ages,  and  this  important  visitation  made  no  small  sfir 
amongst  us;  it  is  true,  the  hours  they  kept  grievously 
interrupted  our  business,  and  deranged  the  regularity  of 
the  family.  The  morning  was  commonly  half  gone,  and 
my  appetite  with  it,  before  they  were  ready  for  breakfast; 
this,  of  course,  caused  a  like  postponement  of  dinner,  and 
so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  However,  we  put  a  good 
face  upon  the  matter ;  Experience  was  determined  to  do 
every  thing  genteelly,  and,  upon  the  whole,  succeeded 
wonderfully.  I  remember  one  morning,  among  the  other 
arrangements  equally  judicious,  she  ordered  Sip  to  tidy 
himself  and  wait  upon  table ;  accordingly,  after  some  time 
he  made  his  appearance,  his  black  face  glistening  with 
soap-suds,  and  a  bit  of  white  garter  round  his  hat ;  and 
taking  a  chair,  sat  kicking  his  heels  for  a  while  tolerably 


166 

patient,  but  finding  no  immediate  call  for  his  services,  "  I 
'most  think,  aunt,"  said  he,  "  if  I  ben't  wanted  partiklar, 
I  'd  as  good  turn  out  the  cows — 'um  seems  mortal  uneasy, 
somehow."  "  Turn  out  the  cows,"  said  I,  "  at  this  time  of 
day  !  why  have  they  been  left  starving  so  long?"  "  Why 
'cause  I  .had  to  go  down  to  the  squire's  to  see  if  Madam 
Coramnoby  couldn't  no  how  lend  some  silver  notions  to 
put  on  the  table  while  the  quality  staid,  'cause  you  see  our 
few  dabs  be  as  old  as  the  hills,  and  battered  out  of  all  rea 
son,  in  a  manner;  and  then  Molly  sent  me  over  to  old 
Marcy  Scrub  well's  for  a  taste  of  butter,  'cause  our'n  was 
over  garlicky  and  saft-like  for  the  quality."  "  Well,"  said 
I,  "could  not  somebody  else  turn  them  out?"  "Why 
Molly  said  how  she  would  do  it,  but  she  got  in  such  a 
fumigation  washin'  Biddy's  t'other  white  frock  and  aunt's 
cap,  as  'em  might  dry  agin  a'ternoon,  she  clean  forgot, 
seemingly." 

I  had  sown  a  field  of  grain,  and  it  was  important  to 
harrow  it  in  immediately,  more  especially  as  the  weather 
looked  threatening ;  but  in  the  afternoon  the  white  frock 
and  the  cap  were  exhibited,  nure  enough,  and  the  Snipitoffs 
must  take  a  ride,  exercise  being  in  demand  as  well  as  air ; 
accordingly  the  horses  were  taken  from  the  harrow,  a  flood 
of  rain  came,  and  it  was  impracticable  to  finish  the  job  till 
too  late — so  the  crop  was  lost.  These  rides  were  sadly  in 
the  way  of  our  farming  operations,  but  they  were  at  length 
luckily  put  an  end  to.  Experience,  it  seems,  had  heard 
from  our  visiters  some  hints  about  the  roughness  and  vul 
garity  of  our  family  wagon ;  she  therefore  made  Sip  get 


167 


the  ancient,  rickety,  brick-dust  coach  from  the  out-house, 
where  it  had  stood  ever  since  lawyer  Spinitout's  vendue, 
when  it  was  bought  for  the  sake  of  the  old  iron,  and  they 
sallied  forth  accordingly  in  this  "  more  genteeler  ekipage," 
as  Seraphina  said ;  but  they  had  not  journeyed  many 
miles,  broiled  with  heat  and  half  choked  with  dust,  look 
ing  after  "romantical  sitivations  suitable  for  potery  and 
skitching,"  as  the  young  ladies  said,  when  a  sudden  jolt 
broke  down  the  hind  seat,  and  let  Experience  and  Sera 
phina  into  the  box,  where  two  old  hens  and  a  Muscovy 
duck  were  quietly  sitting  on  their  eggs,  and  which  Sip,  in 
his  hurry  to  throw  on  the  lid,  had  overlooked.  The 
screams  of  the  women,  and  the  cackling  and  fluttering  of 
the  fowls,  alarmed  the  horses,  and  away  they  went — and 
the  old  coach,  and  Sip,  and  the  Snipitoffs,  and  the  poultry, 
and  Experience,  came  flying  home,  after  a  fashion  seldom 
witnessed  in  our  neighbourhood. 

Seraphina  was  a  voluble,  conversable  woman,  having  a 
notable  gift  of  the  gab,  as  the  saying  is,  and  she  made  free 
use  of  her  gift.  She  did  not  speak  three  thousand  pro 
verbs,  nor  treat  of  creeping  things  and  fishes,  but  she  held 
forth  abundantly  on  visitings,  and  fashionable  parties,  and 
fashionable  dresses,  and  Broadway,  and  "promenation  on 
the  battery,"  and  "incursions  on  the  water,"  and  "genteel 
sesiety,"  and  "  pittyresk  sinery,"  and  I  know  not  what ;  to 
hear  all  which,  Experience 

"  Did  most  seriously  incline  j." 


168 


and  the  effect  of  these  precious  communications  was  such 
as  might  be  expected  from  the  wisdom  of  the  recipient. 
The  commendable  qualities  of  my  wife  were  rather  acci 
dental  than  otherwise,  and  her  domestic  habits  being 
infixed  little  more  than  skin  deep,  were  of  course  quickly 
eradicated ;  gentility  and  discontent  crept  into  my  house 
hold,  and  quietness  and  comfort  crept  out ;  and  visitations 
to  the  city,  and  visitations  from  the  city,  fully  occupied 
the  time  of  Experience  and  Biddy;  and  even  honest 
Marmaduke  became  infected  with  the  prevailing  mania. 
When  they  were  engaged  in  preparations  to  return  the 
aforementioned  visitation  of  our  cousins,  the  wearisome 
turnings,  and  cuttings,  and  bleachings,  and  starehings,  and 
clappings,  put  the  whole  family  in  commotion.  In  all  this 
I  took  little  interest;  but  happening  one  day  to  pass  through 
a  room  unexpectedly,  I  found  Biddy  standing  with  a  strap 
passed  around  her  waist,  and  Sip  at  one  end,  and  Molly  at 
the  other,  pulling  in  opposite  directions,  till  Sip  grinned 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  Molly  seemed  in  no  small  perspiration ; 
and  at  every  pull  Experience  secured  what  they  had 
gained,  by  passing  large  pins  through  a  canvass  wrapper. 
Now  Experience  and  I  are  pretty  portly  people,  rather 
bulky  than  otherwise,  and  Biddy,  having  enjoyed  good 
health  and  a  good  appetite,  naturally  took  after  us  in 
this  particular.  "  Abomination,"  said  I,  for  I  was  surprised 
out  of  my  usual  moderation,  "  what  are  ye  about  with  the 
girl?"  "Oh  nothing,  father,"  panted  out  Biddy,  for  she 
could  hardly  speak,  "I'm  only  getting  ready  for  my  corsets." 
"  Getting  ready  for  thy  coffin,  poor  simpleton,  I  fancy,"  said 
I..  "  Nonsense,"  said  Experience ;  "  now  don't  discourage 


169 

the  child,  Timothy ;  she  bears  taking  up  very  well  so  far, 
considering,  and  there  's  no  use  talking  about  it ;  how- 
would  she  look,  I  wonder,  among  the  genteel  people  in 
the  steamboat,  with  half  an  acre  of  waist?  she  must  be 
tight ;  every  body  's  tight ;  I  shall  take  up  myself  a  little, 
though  may  be  not  lessen  my  capacity  so  soon  after 
dinner."  "Instead  of  taking  up  thy  tabernacle,  Expe 
rience,"  said  I,  "  it  might  be  well  if  thou  would  take  up 
more  commendable  resolutions ;  and  as  to  thy  capacity,  I 
believe  few  think  it  needs  lessening ;  however,  if  Biddy  is 
to  be  squeezed  to  death,  better  do  it  at  once,  than  mangle 
her  after  this  sort ;  let  Marmaduke  put  her  under  one  of 
the  screws  of  the  cider  press,  and  take  a  turn  or  two  with 
the  old  mare,  and  she'll  soon  be  genteel  enough !"  But 
my  opposition  availed  little ;  the  preparations  went  on — 
the  visit  was  paid ;  and,  when  they  returned,  I  was  not  a 
little  shocked  with  the  appearance  of  the  group.  Biddy, 
by  perseverance  in  starvation  and  lacing,  had  succeeded 
in  screwing  her  waist  into  a  nothingness  truly  wonderful ; 
it  fairly  gave  me  the  stomach-ache  to  look  at  her ;  and  she 
carried  on  her  head  a  frightful  affair,  as  much  like  our  big 
pewter  dish  upside  down  as  any  thing  I  can  just  now 
think  of.  She  was,  in  short,  so  thoroughly  transmogrified, 
that  even  the  old  cow,  that  she  had  milked  hundreds  of 
times,  stared  at  her  with  amazement,  and  seemed  to  be 
altogether  in  a  quandary  as  to  what  she  might  be  ;  and  poor 
little  Experience  Seraphina  Adelina  Snipitoff  Goadenough, 
our  youngest  daughter,  appeared  to  be  nearly  frozen:  it 
was  a  raw,  piercing  day,  and  she  had  nothing  on  her 
arms  but  a  strip  of  rag  over  each  shoulder.  "  Why,  my 
22 


170 

lamb,"  said  I,  "  art  thou  not  almost  perished  ?•"     "  O  yes, 
pa,"  said  she,  "  I'm  all  goose  flesh."     "  Ah,  my  dear,"  said 
I,  "  I  wish  there  was  not  a  greater  goose  in  the  house ;  thou 
art  only  a  goose  outwardly,  whereas" — but  happening  to 
look  round  I  espied  Experience,  and   did  not  think  it 
needful   to    pursue  the   discourse   any  further.     I  have 
already  remarked    that   Marmaduke    had    also    become 
infected  with  the  prevailing  disease,  the  mania  of  gentility. 
I  had  suspected  this  for   some  time  before  he  ventured 
to  ask  me,  after  some  coughing  and  stammering,  whether 
I  did  not  think  he  might  as  well  try  to  get  into  business. 
"  Get  into  business,  my  son,"  said  I,  "why  art  thou  riot  in 
business  already? — a  cultivator  of  the  earth — the  busi 
ness  of  the  first  man  in  paradise,  and  out  of  it ;  a  business 
advocated  by  the  good  and  wise  of  all  ages ;  a  business  by 
which  Abraham,  and  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  became  rich  and 
great?"     I  had  got  upon  a  favourite  subject,  and  might 
probably  have  continued  the  discourse  for  some  time,  but 
was  stopped  by  Experience,  who  had  overheard  us.     "  As 
to  what  Abraham,  and  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  did,"  said  she,  "  it 
is  neither  here  nor  there  ;  if  they  made  money  by  farming, 
pork  and  flour  must  have  fetched  a  better  price  then  than 
now :  'tis  like  there  might  have  been  a  French  war,  or  a 
hurricane  in  the  West  Indies,  or  a  scarcity  in  Ireland,  or 
something  else  uncommon,  to  raise  the  price ;  but  for  a 
young  man  like  our  Marmaduke  to  go  for  to  slave  his  life 
out  in  raising  things  that  won't  sell  for  nothing,  'tis  a 
shame.    Look  at  the  gentlemen  that  go  up  and  down  in  the 
steamboat ;  they  don't  look  as  if  they  had  been  creeping 
twelve   hours  a  day  after  a  plough.     No ;   they  follow 


171 

something  more  genteeler,  and  more  profitable!'  toOj  I  guess, 
or  they  could  n't  afford  to  be  always  coasting  about  so." 
"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  have  looked  at  these  same  gentlemen  tra 
vellers,  and  a  wearisome  sight  it  is  to  behold  the  crowds  of 
idlers  continually  passing  to  and  fro ;  and  in  such  extreme 
haste,  too,  that  boilers  must  be  heated  to  the  verge  of  explo 
sion,  and  horses  lashed  with  savage  severity,  when  in  all 
likelihood  the  sole  business  of  one  half  of  them,  on  arriving 
at  the  place  of  destination,  is  to  return  again ;  but  as  to 
Marmaduke's  business,  if  it  must  be  so,  the  first  thing 
needful  is  a  small  capital.  I  should  not  mind  selling  the 
field  over  the  road — it  is  rather  unhandy,  and  might  be 
spared."  "Selling  the  old  worn-out  field!"  said  Expe 
rience;  '-'and  who,  I  wonder,  would  buy  it?  No — borrow 
at  once  a  handsome  sum,  and  mortgage  the  farm ;  Marma 
duke's  profits  will  soon  enable  us  to  repay  it,  and  we  shall 
keep  the  property  unbroken."  This  advice  seemed  to  be 
palatable ;  however,  the  truth  is,  that,  whether  palatable 
and  reasonable  or  not,  the  advice  of  Experience  is  com 
monly  sure  to  prevail.  The  money  was  borrowed,  and  my 
son  established  in  business,  in  connection  with  Marcus 
Junius  Snipitoff,  the  son  of  our  cousin  Moses.  Experience 
was  now  in  her  element;  what  with  visitations  to  Sera- 
phina,  and  the  superintendence  of  Marmaduke's  establish 
ment,  she  was  ever  on  the  go,  and  her  time  too  fully 
occupied  to  attend  to  her  own  domestic  affairs,  which 
prospered  accordingly.  However,  as  to  poor  Marmaduke, 
his  establishment,  as  indeed  might  have  been  foreseen,  soon 
came  to  an  "  extermination,"  as  Seraphina  says.  Whether 
young  Snipitoff  snipped  off  more  of  the  common  stock 


172 


than  was  commendable,  I  know  not;  certain  it  is  that  the 
whole  soon  vanished  like  the  "  base  fable  of  a  vision,"  as 
Seraphina  says,  and  I  was  glad  to  escape  from  the  wreck 
with  the  loss  of  half  my  estate.  Having  been  benefited 
so  little  in  my  own  case,  by  the  facility  of  intercourse  and 
the  multiplication  of  the  means  of  indulging  a  gadding 
disposition,  it  may  be  supposed  that  I  regard  with  no  par 
ticular  complacency  the  efforts  that  are  making  to  scatter 
these  conveniences  over  our  country  in  every  direction, 
insomuch  that  in  a  short  time  an  honest  man  may  hardly 
be  able  to  stir  about  his  lawful  business,  without  danger  of 
tumbling  into  a  canal  or  breaking  his  shins  over  a  railway. 
However,  I  oppose  them  not;  these  excavations  and  con 
structions  will  doubtless  fill  for  a  time  "the  mouth  of 
labour,"  let  the  pockets  of  the  projector  and  stockholder 
fare  as  they  may ;  and  my  learned  old  friend  Alexander 
Scraggletop  Barelikit,  the  schoolmaster — formerly  of  Muc- 
klestonechoakthrapple,  in  Aberdeenshire,  says,  that  "  anent 
thae  warks,  he  has  nae  doot  in  his  ain  privat  mind  but 
that,  by  farcelitatin'  intercoorse,  they  may  ten'  to  devilloup 
our  resoorces,  an'  gie  muckle  exheeliration  to  the  march  of 
ceevelisation  in  the  oot-lyin'  wildernesses." 

DESUNT  C^ETERA. 
1828. 


173 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  A  YOUNG  FRIEND. 


Mind  thy  own  business, — this  perhaps  may  seem 
Language  unmeet  for  such  a  page  as  this — 

But  'tis  no  trifling  business,  and  I  deem 
Advice  to  mind  it  at  no  time  amiss. 

Mind  thy  own  business — thou  hast  time  assigned  thee, 

And  all-important  labour  to  be  done ; 
Let  not  the  shadows  of  the  evening  find  thee, 

And  this  great  work  perhaps  not  yet  begun. 

Mind  thy  own  business — then,  as  it  flies  o'er  thee, 
Shall  every  moment  smiles  approving  wear ; 

Eternity's  vast  ocean  roll  before  thee 

Serene — and  peace  attend  thy  progress  there. 


174 


[A  number  of  small  engravings  for  one  of  his  young  relatives  were 
sent  to  the  author,  with  a  request  that  he  would  write  something  appropriate 
to  each.  He  returned  them  with  the  following  pieces,  but  without  any 
view  to  publication.] 

ON    A    PICTURE    OF  A    CHILD    FALLING    FROM  A  BOAT 
INTO    THE    WATER. 

Along  old  Ocean's  shelving  side 

With  eager  step  the  plovers  roam, 
And  with  parental  care  provide 

For  their  loved  nestlings  safe  at  home. 

O'er  the  blue  waters,  high  in  air, 

The  wild  duck  squadrons  ride  the  gale, 

While  others,  tired  of  sporting  there, 
On  dancing  billows,  joyous,  sail. 

But  who  is  he — yon  wretched  child  ? 

Down  headlong,  from  his  tottering  boat, 
To  death  descending,  dark  and  wild 

The  waters  soon  shall  o'er  him  float. 

»  '  • 

Perhaps,  but  late,  a  mother's  arm 

Was  flung  in  doating  fondness  round  him, 

Perhaps  her  love,  foreseeing  harm, 

Warned  him  to  shun  the  fate  that  found  him. 


*      175 

O  !  had  that  warning  voice  prevailed, 
Then  might  he,  in  maturer  years, 

O'er  many  a  distant  sea  have  sailed, 
Nor  "  steeped  a  parent's  couch  in  tears." 


ANOTHER  ILLUSTRATION  OF  THE  SAME  SUBJECT. 

On  the  shore  killdeers  were  trying 

To  surprise  a  worm  or  two — 
Over  head  the  crows  were  flying, 

A  dingy  and  discordant  crew. 

Peter  sauntered  by  the  river- 
Geese  were  swimming  on  the  tide, 

"  Ho  !"  said  Peter,  "  that's  a  clever, 
Cool,  and  easy  way  to  ride." 

• 
In  the  boat  he  got,  to  paddle, 

Leaning  careless  o'er  the  prow — 
"  Now,"  said  Peter,  "  neighbour  Waddle, 

I'm  as  great  a  goose  as  thou." 

The  geese  would  often  dip  for  sweeter 

Grass,  that  on  the  bottom  grew — 
"  I  can  dip,  I  guess,"  said  Peter, 

"  Head  and  ears,  as  well  as  you." 


176      0 

Down  he  dipped,  but  in  the  endeavour, 

Gave  the  boat  a  luckless  turn, 
And  (what  he  contemplated  never,) 

Over  went  his  whole  concern. 

Ah  !  thought  a  goose  who  watched  the  motion, 
(Perhaps)  with  no  unwilling  eyes — 

"  Thou  art  over,  Peter,  I  Ve  a  notion, 
But  doubt  thy  being  over  wise." 


FOR  A  WINTER  SCENE  OK  A  FARM. 

Winter  rules,  in  turn,  the  year, 
White  with  snow  the  fields  appear, 
In  his  barn,  the  farmer  now 
Views,  well  pleased,  his  loaded  mow, 
AncJ,  sheltered  from  the  stormy  gale, 
Plies  the  far  resounding  flail ; 
While  beside  the  door  the  kine 
On  the  fragrant  clover  dine, 
Or  on  beds  of  straw  recline. 

Farther  off  the  feathered  race, 
Seek  their  'customed  feeding  place, 
And  await  their  dole  of  grain, — 
Do  not  let  them  wait  in  vain. 


177 

Thou  'rt  a  favoured  child  of  Heave n, 

But  not  exclusively  its  care  ; 
Let  the  bounty  God  has  given 

His  inferior  creatures  share. 

But  yonder  idlers,  in  the  sleigh, 
Had  better  fall  to  honest  labour, 

Than  tire  their  horses,  waste  a  day, 

And  hinder  some  industrious  neighbour. 


FOR  AN  AUTUMNAL  SCENE. 

Where  cultured  ridges  wide  extend, 
The  careful  farmer  strews  the  grain, 

In  humble  hope  that  Heaven  may  send 
The  early  and  the  latter  rain. 

That,  favoured  thus,  another  year 
May  many  a  ripened  ear  supply 
For  those  dear  young  ones,  sporting  near 
With  buoyant  kite  ascending  high. 
And  to  those  dear  ones,  be  it  known, 
Though  kites,  at  seasons,  may  be  flown. 
Yet  work  must  take  its  turn — the  day 
Must  not  be  wasted  all  in  play. 
23 


178 

And  let  the  farmer,  too,  reflect 

That  there  are  other  seeds  to  scatter 

In  these  young  minds — and  not  neglect, 
For  transient  things,  this  weightier  matter. 

The  seeds  of  knowledge — love  of  truth, 
And  virtuous  fame,  implanted  there, 

And  nurtured  in  the  spring  of  youth, 
May  haply  fruit  immortal  bear. 


FOR  A  SHIP  UNDER  FULL  SAIL. 

From  the  rude  plank,  on  which  adventurous  man 
First  dared  the  waters,  in  pursuit  of  food, 
Or  haply  to  approach  some  neighbouring  isle, 
Whose  spicy  groves,  and  sweet  retiring  vales, 
Lay,  flower-enameled,  on  the  smiling  sea — 
From  that  rude  plank  to  this  majestic  ship, 
How  great  the  change  !  how  wond'rous  an  effect, 
Produced  by  human  industry  and  skill ! 
A  tie  connecting  the  remotest  shores 
Of  the  green  earth — a  bridge  around  the  world  ! 
Behold  !  how  gracefully  she  sits — expanding 
Her  canvass  pinions  to  the  swelling  breeze  ! 
But  should  the  storm  awake,  and  the  vexed  waters, 


179 


Roused  into  rage,  in  fearful  mountains  rise, 
Onward  she  dashes  through  the  wild  commotion  ; 
Yet,  mid  this  elemental  war,  obeys 
The  slightest  intimation  of  her  helm, — 
An  object  scarcely  noticed,  yet  controlling 
The  varied  movements  of  the  vast  machine. 

So  let  "  a  word*  behind  thee"  govern  thine, 
Through  all  the  countless  incidents  of  life, 
Whenever  conscience  whispers  in  thy  ear 
"  This  is  the  way" — although  a  world  should  rise 
In  opposition— let  that  way  be  thine. 

*  And  thine  ears  shall  hear  a  word  behind  thee,  saying, "  this  is  the  way, 
walk  ye  in  it,"  when  ye  turn  to  the  right  hand,  and  when  ye  turn  to  the  left. 

Isaiah,  ch.  xxx,  v.  21. 


180 


ON  READING  WORDSWORTH'S  "EXCURSION," 

London  large  quarto  edition. 

WRITTEN  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THAT  AUTHOR. 

Specimen  of  an   Unpublished  Work,  without  a  Name,  written 
on  a  Nameless  Occasion. 

BOOK  FIRST. 

The  book's  half  ended,  and  I'm  well  pleased. 
Not  with  the  book  exclusively — but  that 
It  is  half  ended — an  unwieldy  volume, 
Like  other  ponderous  thing,  is  wearisome, 
And  this  seems  heavy  in  more  ways  than  one ; 
Now  I  do  mightily  affect  a  book 
Of  such  convenient  and  minute  dimension 
As  may  be  held  between  the  thumb  and  finger, 
And  read  reclining  in  an  elbowchair. 

A  great  book,  some  one  said,  is  a  great  evil ; 
But  when  the  book  is  half  made  up  of  margin, 
The  evil  is  in  that  proportion  lessened  ; 
Thanks  to  the  London  printers,  who  provide 
A  comfortable  breadth  of  vacant  paper, 
On  which  the  mind  may  rest  itself,  fatigued 
With  the  bewildering  simpleness  that  creepeth, 
Turbid  and  deep  sometimes,  and  sometimes  shallow, 


181 

*  •  .  -•     '*  - 

With  eveu  pace  through  the  capacious  page, 
Like  a  dark  gutter  through  a  field  of  snow. ! 

And  who  knows,  said  I  to  myself,  but  I 

Might  also  make  a  book? — a  goodly  quarto  ; 

The  world  is  full  of  readers,  patient  souls, 

Who  may  endure  my  tediousness,  perhaps, 

As  well  as  that  of  others  :  I'll  afflict  'em 

With  a  few  lines,  by  way  of  specimen, 

And  thus  they  may  begin  : — I  gat  me  up 

And  washed  my  hands  and  face,  and  ate  my  breakfast, 

And  combed  my  head, — I  use  the  common  parlance 

Because  'tis  common,  though  it  is  improper — 

For  I  did  comb  my  hair,  and  not  my  head; 

And  this  I  did  before  I  ate  my  breakfast, 

And  should  have  so  recorded  it,  for  events 

Of  any  moment  should  be  chronicled 

Precisely  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence  ; — 

But  let  that  pass.     Well,  I  did  eat  my  breakfast, 

And  then  I  sate  me  in  my  elbowchair, 

And  gazed  most  intently  at  the  window ; 

But,  though  my  eyes  were  on  the  window  fixed, 

I  noted  not  the  outward  forms  of  things, 

Or  aught  enacting  in  the  external  world ;- — 

No — in  profound  abstraction  I  did  gaze 

Into  the  "  dun  obscure"  of  my  own  mind, 

If  haply  I  might  spy  and  seize  for  use 

Some  tiny  straggler  of  the  ideal  world : 

But  gazed  on  vacancy — for  nought  was  there. 

Even  so  abideth  in  a  barn  an  owl, 


182 


The  bird  of  wisdom,  and  with  look  sedate 
Watcheth — and  he,  too,  watcheth  oft  in  vain 
For  the  small  cattle  that  inhabit  there. 
Faring  thus  meagerly,  I  walked  me  forth 
To  inhale  the  freshness  of  the  morning  air, 
And  read  the  features  of  surrounding  things  : 
So,  other  wise  men,  when  their  homes  are  rendered 
By  whatsoever  cause  uncomfortable, 
Direct  their  meditative  steps  abroad. 

I  love  not  early  morning  walks — I  love  not 
To  get  my  feet  wet ;  and  the  bard  who  wrote 
The  silly  trash  of  brushing  dew  away 
To  see  the  sun  rise,  hardly  knew,  I  fancy, 
What  dew  was  made  of,  or  the  vile  effect 
That  frequent  soaking  hath  upon  shoe  leather ; 
And  yet  he  was  a  man  who  might  have  known, 
Once  in  his  life,  perhaps,  unlike  the  run 
Of  bards,  the  comfort  of  a  pair  of  shoes. 
Well,  I  did  walk  me  down  a  quiet  lane, 
In  which  was  little  to  distract  the  thoughts 
Of  the  wayfaring  man,  or  lead  him  forth 
From  deep  and  dark  communion  with  himself: 
It  was  not  a  green  lane — a  grassy  lane— 
And  I  have  noted  that  at  certain  seasons, 
Particularly  in  the  dead  of  winter, 
But  little  green  is  met  with  any  where ; 
Except,  indeed,  upon  Venetian  blinds, 
And  the  dried  skins  of  murdered  katy-dids. 
On  either  side,  and  in  the  midst,  appeared. 


183 


In  proud  defiance  of  marauding  swine, 
A  goodly  growth  of  Jemson  weed  and  Poke  : 
Now,  one  who  had  picked  up  a  farthing's  worth 
Of  learned  jargon,  would  embrace  the  occasion 
To  show  his  knowledge  of  outlandish  terms 
For  common  things,  and  say,  that  in  this  lane 
The  phytolacca  and  stramonium  grew ; 
But  I,  who  write  for  dwellers  in  the  fields, 
Write  in  the  language  of  the  land  they  live  in, 
And  therefore  write  I  Jemson  weed  and  Poke. 

O  !  it  hath  smiled  me — that  is,  made  me  smile, 
When  I  have  seen  an  honest  man  endeavour 
To  pass  himself  for  more  than  he  was  worth 
Of  mental  treasure — in  and  out  of  season 
Larding  his  flavourless  and  lean  discourse 
With  certain  words  of  uncouth,  learned  length, 
Which,  like  the  parrot,  he  had  got  by  rote. 

As  I  did  journey  in  this  lane,  beneath 
A  withered  Poke  bush  I  beheld  a  beast — 
A  little  beast  he  was,  and  had  no  tail — 
A  toad  they  called  him,  and  he  seemed  in  years — 
An  ancient  toad,  who  had  seen  better  days. 
I  leaned  my  back  against  the  fence,  and  stood 
Under  the  shade  of  an  old  apple  tree 
That  had  been  dead  for  years  ;  my  hose,  ungartered, 
Hung  ruefully  in  wrinkles  at  my  ankles  ; 
And  my  slouched  hat,  my  forehead's  old  companion, 
Would  have  flapped  mournfully  about  my  ears, 


184 


[f  there  had  been  a  breath  of  air  to  flpp  it ; — 
With  both  hands  in  my  pockets,  thus  I  stood, 
Resembling  much  a  statue,  (not  of  Greece,) 
And  mused  upon  the  toad — and  he  too  seemed 
As  he  were  musing,  and  that  recollections 
Of  by-gone  ups  and  downs  had  moved  him ; 
For  ever  and  anon  he  raised  his  foot 
And  wiped  his  eye  withal.     'Tis  wonderful, 
What  curious  thoughts,  unlocked  for,  will  arise 
Oft  in  the  minds  of  contemplative  men,— 
Men  who  associate  with  the  sticks,  and  stones, 
And  living  tenants  of  the  fields  and  woods. 
Now,  thought  I,  if  this  toad  would  get  him  up 
And  stand  erect  upon  his  feet,  as  I  do, 
And,  if  it  liked  him,  lean  against  the  fence, 
This  simple  exercise  of  mere  volition, 
To  action  moving  his  somnolent  powers, 
Might  in  the  reptile  work  a  glorious  change. 
But  how,  by  what  intricate  combination, 
Obscure  or  obvious,  of  involved  modes, 
Reader,  I  leave  for  thy  own  cogitation  ; 
I  do  but  start  a  slumbering  thought  or  two, 
And  they  who  like  may  hunt  'em  down  for  me, 

By  this  the  sun  rode  high — it  might  be  noony 
But  I  did  not  consult  my  watch ;  my  watch 
Is  not  wound  up  so  often  as  it  might  be, 
And  might  indeed  as  well  remain  unwound, 
For  it  keeps  time  about  as  carefully 
As  doth  a  sieve  keep  water — but  no  matter  ; 


185 


The  man  who  stirreth  him  upon  the  mountains, 

Or  in  the  valleys,  under  open  sky, 

Needs  not  the  aid  of  curious  instrument 

To  warn  him  how  time  passes  ;  no,  he  beareth 

In  his  own  breast  a  faithful  monitor, 

Which  duly  indicates  the  hour  of  noon  : 

Yea,  more  especially  if  he  should  labour. 

And  labour  by  the  day,  he  is  most  certain 

To  hit  the.  hour  of  noon  before  the  time ; 

For  the  delightful  intertwined  ideas 

Of  noon  and  dinner,  in  the  labourer's  mind, 

Like  man  and  wife,  are  never  to  be  parted. 

And  why  is  this  ?     To  say  the  man  is  hungry 

Is  to  say  nothing,  or  at  best,  no  more 

Than  that  he  longs  for  something  unpossessed — 

A  common  case  ;  and  wherefore  longeth  he  ? 

A  question  this,  important  and  abstruse  ; 

But,  perad venture,  it  may  be  resolved 

In  some  such  way  as  this  :  we  may  behold 

In  the  outward  world  no  vacuum — all  is  full 

Of  life  and  matter,  multiform  and  mixed, 

Sentient  and  senseless — and  may  hence  conclude 

That,  in  the  little  world  of  man,  the  region 

Called  in  the  pugilists'  vocabulary 

Bread  basket,  (term  significant  and  neat,) 

Escheweth  mightily  all  emptiness. 

And  further,  we  may  readily  perceive, 
Within  us  and  without  us,  all  is  motion  : 
One  spirit  of  activity  pervades 
24 


186 


With  pauseless  energy  all  forms  of  being, 

And  analogically  may  infer 

That  the  prime  agent  in  the  aforesaid  basket, 

The  gastric  fluid,  hateth  idleness ; 

And  rinding  nothing  wherewithal  to  work, 

Like  famished  tiger,  falls  upon  its  keeper, 

And  suffereth  not  the  honest  man  to  rest 

'Till  he  hath  got  his  dinner ; — I'll  get  mine. 

EXIT. 


187 


SCRAPS; 

OR,  A  PAGE  FROM  MY  PORT  FOLIO. 

Doubtless,  we  are  a  great  and  glorious  people, 
Free,  moral,  wise,  religious,  and  what  not; 
Enjoying  heartily,  with  other  comforts, 
Opinions  most  respectful  of  ourselves. 

Yes,  doubtless,  we  are  great,  and  every  hour 
Becoming  greater,  like  a  vast  mushroom. 
Towns  rise,  as  if  by  magic,  in  the  forest, 
And  where,  of  late,  a  troop  of  tuneful  wolves 
Howled  their  wild  wood-notes  to  the  midnight  moon, 
Caper  the  hopeful  youth,  and  fiddles  squeak. 

Our  virtuous  and  enlightened  population 
Rolls  onward  like  a  deluge,  scattering  wide, 
With  much  commendable,  unsparing  zeal, 
The  tawny,  two  legg'd,  and  inferior  vermin, 
To  dens  obscure,  and  deserts  far  remote, 
To  trapper  and  to  squatter  yet  unknown. 

Yes,  doubtless,  we're  a  wise,  a  moral  people. 
Ask  ye  for  proof?  and  can  ye  not  perceive 
The  scent  of  whiskey  float  on  every  gale  ? 


188 


Others  may  boast  their  floods  of  milk  and  honey, 
Ours  may  be  called  a  whiskey-streaming  land. 
As  flows  life's  current  through  the  human  frame 
In  countless  rills  meandering,  so  does  whiskey 
Flow  through  our  country;  but  a  copious  tide, 
Resembling  more  a  torrent  than  a  rill — 
Marking  its  troubled  and  tumultuous  course, 
By  poverty  and  crime,  disease  and  death. 
We  kill  the  nations  off  to  get  the  soil, 
The  soil  produces  grain,  the  grain  the  whiskey, 
The  whiskey  ruin,  both  to  soul  and  body ; 
And  thus  we  travel  the  delightful  round  : 
And  modern  Solomons,  who  rule  the  nation, 
Wisely  decline  to  tax  the  precious  fluid, 
Lest  haply  they  might  check  the  growth  of  grain, 
And  raise  a  frown  upon  a  voter's  brow. 

Yes,  doubtless,  we're  a  free,  a  Christian  people, 
Holding  this  truth  to  be  self-evident, 
That  all  men  are  by  Heaven  created  equal, 
Endowed  alike  with  right  to  liberty. 
Doubt  ye  the  fact  ?  and  have  ye  ne'er  beheld 
Upon  our  public  ways,  a  group  of  beings, 
Aye,  human  beings,  with  immortal  souls, 
Driven  to  the  market,  like  a  flock  to  slaughter, 
Chained,  sold,  lashed,  mangled,  at  the  sound  discretion 
Of  worthies,  doubtless,  of  superior  nature, 
Because  enveloped  in  a  paler  skin ; 
The  dearest  ties  the  heart  can  know  dissevered, — 
The  parent  parted  from  her  infant  treasure, 


189 

The  fainting  maiden  from  her  lover  torn, 
And  doomed  to  toil  and  slavery  for  ever. 

Yes,  doubtless,  we're  a  moral,  Christian  people. 
God  hath  commanded,'  thou  shalt  do  no  murder ; 
He,  at  whose  bidding  all  things  rose  from  nothing, 
And,  at  whose  frown,  would  sink  again  to  nought. 
And  lo  !  forth  crawls  the  important  duellist, 
An  evanescent  worm,  a  thing  of  dust, 
And  dares  his  wrath,  and  tramples  on  his  law. 
The  curse  of  Cain  is  on  him — his  right  hand, 
His  soul,  encrimsoned  with  a  brother's  blood, 
A  friend — a  boon  companion — one  with  whom, 
A  few  short  hours  before,  he  had  united, 
Perhaps  in  scenes  of  folly  and  of  crime : 
What  then  ?  he  mingles  with  congenial  Christians, 
Calls  himself  one,  no  doubt,  and  stands  prepared 
To  enact  the  self-same  Christian  part  again. 
Will  human  laws  deter  him?     Human  laws 
Were  surely  not  designed  for  men  of  honour : 
A  starving  wretch,  in  the  pursuit  of  plunder, 
Commits  a  murder,  and  he  shall  be  hanged ; 
Not  so  your  man  of  honour — he  may  kill, 
Arrange  deliberately  his  mode  of  murder, 
Become  an  adept  by  industrious  practice, 
And  boast  of  his  expertness  at  the  trade ; 
He  shall  go  free — he  is  a  man  of  honour — 
And  laws,  and  those  who  ought  to  guard  them,  sleep. 
O  yes,  no  doubt — we  are  a  Christian  people. 


190 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

The  industrious  bee,  from  many  a  varied  blossom, 

Amasses  treasure  of  unmingled  sweetness  ; 

Alike  subservient  to  her  chemic  power 

The  cherished  flowret  and  the  slighted  weed. 

And,  reader,  thou,  though  haply  not  possessing 

Her  quick  perception  of  incipient  good, 

Or  magic  process  of  amalgamation, 

Mayst  gather  from  this  miscellaneous  volume 

Some  harmless  pleasure, — may  be,  something  more; 

For,  doubtless,  here  reposeth  many  a  flower 

Of  purest  fragrance  and  unfading  bloom. 

But  if,  unluckily,  thou  shouldst  discover 

Some  little  inoffensive  weed  like  this, 

Let  it  not  kindle  'thy  severe  displeasure ; — 

Remember,  rather,  what  experience  teaches — 

That  he  who  cultivates  on  all  occasions 

A  disposition  to  be  pleased  and  please, 

Is  much  the  happiest  and  the  wisest  man. 


191 


WOMAN. 

Our  ancestor  Adam,  in  Eden's  fair  bowers, 
With  apathy  gazed  at  the  fruits  and  the  flowers  • 
Surrounded  with  blessings,  no  pleasure  was  there — 
He  sighed  for  a  bosom  those  blessings  to  share ; 
And  the  charms  of  creation  were  deemed  little  worth, 
'Till  woman  was  sent  to  imparadise  earth. 

She  came,  in  the  splendour  of  grace  and  of  beauty, 
His  breast  to  illume  with  the  radiance  of  love  ; 

She  came,  in  the  meekness  of  kindness  and  duty, 

His  joys  to  redouble — his  pains  to  remove  : 
And  he  felt,  what  her  presence  alone  can  impart — 
The  sunshine  of  happiness  warm  at  his  heart. 


CONTRA. 

Our  grandfather  Adam,  in  Eden's  fair  bowers, 
Beheld  with  such  pleasure  the  fruits  and  the  flowers, 
'Twas  seen  he  would  soon  be  too  fond  of  his  berth — 
So  a  partner  was  sent  him  to  wean  him  from  earth. 


192 


LINES, 

Written,  extempore,  for  a  child  who  asked  for  an  "Epitaph  on  her 
Squirrel." 

Forced  early  from  his  native  shade, 

And  doomed  a  slave  to  be, 
Here  Bun  reposes  ! — death  has  made 

The  little  prisoner  free. 

Subjected,  from  his  earliest  date, 

To  every  varying  whim — 
And  far  from  parents,  friends,  and  mate — 

Few  charms  had  life  for  him. 


Ye  youthful  readers,  treat  not  with  neglect 
This  slight  memorial — but  sometimes  reflect, 
Ere  from  its  home  a  nestling  you  remove, 
What  you  would  suffer,  torn  from  all  you  love. 


193 


STANZAS. 

Go,  take  the  morning's  wings,  and  speed  thy  flight 
Beyond  the  reach  of  thought— lo  !  HE  is  there  ; 

Go,  wrap  thyself  in  darkness — tenfold  night 
Will  prove  no  covering — HE  is  every  where  : 

In  everlasting  blessedness  remaining, 

Diffused  through  all  things,  and  all  things  sustaining. 

HE  who,  in  yonder  azure  deep  of  air, 

Bade  worlds  on  worlds  in  dazzling  splendour  roll ; 
The  abode  of  myriads,  questionless,  who  share 

The  love  unbounded  of  the  ALL-MOVING  SOUL, 
Whose  bounty  stills  the  infant  raven's  calls — 
By  whom  unheeded  not  a  sparrow  falls. 

His  eye  is  on  thee  !  His,  by  whom  was  given 
The  glorious  mission  of  redeeming  love, 

By  Jordan's  waters,  when,  from  opening  heaven, 
On  glowing  pinion,  came  the  mystic  dove. 

His  eye  is  on  thee  !  which  alike  pervades 

Virtue's  pure  path,  and  guilt's  polluted  shades. 

And  they — the  dwellers  in  those  blessed  places, 
The  heavenly  mansions — whether  near  or  far 

From  us  their  station  in  the  expanse  of  space  is— 
With  cloudless  vision  view  us  as  we  are  : 
25 


194 

4fc 

Man's  darkest  deed  and  thought,  illumined,  lies 
In  broad  exposure  to  angelic  eyes. 

And  had  not  power  divine  for  ever  barred, 
To  sorrow's  entrance,  their  abode  sublime, 

How  oft  must  earth  celestial  peace  have  marred, 
And  angel  bosoms  ached  for  human  crime  ; 

How  often  groveling  man's  insane  career, 

From  eyes  seraphic  drawn  the  burning  tear. 

But  though  divinely  shielded  from  the  intrusion 
Of  sin's  unfailing  fruit  and  follower,  wo — 

When  the  transgressor  wakes  from  guilt's  delusion, 
Augmented  bliss  superior  spirits  know: 

By  Truth's  own  lips  has  been  the  assurance  given, 

O'er  such  repentant  there  is  joy  in  heaven. 

Then  raise  thy  head  in  hope,  thou  broken-hearted — 
Tossed  with  tempests,  and  dismayed  with  fears ; 

Angels,  and  spirits  of  the  just  departed, 
With  love  and  pity  witness  all  thy  tears. 

Thy  sighs  ascend  before  the  eternal  throne, 

And  all  the  conflicts  of  thy  soul  are  known. 


195 


FOR  AN   ALBUM. 

Yes,  I  will  try  to  write — though  not  aspire 

To  hold  high  converse  with  th*  harmonious  Nine ; 

All  may  not  haply  from  the  glowing  lyre, 

With  heaven-taught  fingers,  call  forth  strains  divine; 

But  all,  good-naturedly,  in  lines  like  these, 

May  show  the  will,  if  not  the  power,  to  please. 

All  hail,  good  nature  ! — more  delightful  far 
Thy  joys,  than  all  repelling  genius  knows ; 

The  soft,  mild  radiance  of  thy  gentle  star 

Its  happiest  colouring  o'er  life's  landscape  throws : 

Filled  with  thy  spirit  each  innocuous  page 

In  youth  may  charm  us,  nor  offend  in  age. 

How  kindly,  in  this  world  of  ours, 

Do  folk  each  other  scrutinise  ! 
Lament  their  neighbours'  lack  of  powers, 

And  view  their  own  with  thankful  eyes. 

Methinks  I  see  some  gracious  elf, 

In  want  of  work,  or  will  to  do  it, 
Take  down  this  volume  from  the  shelf, 

And  thus  approvingly  run  through  it : 


196 

"  This  book  is  not  unlike  a  purse, 
A  casket  rich  with  rare  contents  ; 

Bank  notes,  than  nothing  little  worse, 
Small  silver,  and  a  world  of  cents. 

„ 
"  'Tis  very  like  a  pie — a  dish 

Composed  of  fowls  of  every  feather ; 
Red  herrings  too,  and  flesh  and  fish, 

All  huddled,  heads  and  points  together. 

"  For  vegetables  would  you  seek  ? 

There  are  a  few  perhaps  worth  knowing- 
Some  tender  mushrooms,  young  and  weak, 

That  hardly  took  a  month  in  growing. 

-  -^  ..t  v?^?  J~<T-<- 

"  And  here  and  there,  as  a  ve-hicle 

To  help  along  a  lagging  treat, 
Is  seen  an  inoffensive  pickle, 

Lukewarmish — neither  sour  nor  sweet. 

"  I  would  not  hastily  find  fault, 

But  truth,  the  cooks  are  sorry  daubers, 

Their  wretched  thimbleful  of  salt, 
Resembles  Attic  less  than  Glauber's. 

"  Besides,  a  secret  let  me  tell — 

A  truth  found  out  some  lucky  minute — 
The  pie  will  never  relish  well, 

That  has  too  many  fingers  in  it." 


197 


MY  SPECTACLES. 

WRITTEN  IN   1824. 

To  a  friend  who  requested  a  few  lines  on  my  getting  the  said. 

True,  I  have  got  me  spectacles,  and  find  them 

A  prize  indeed — they  have  unfolded  to  me 

Much  that  was  hidden  and  involved  in  gloom, 

Of  the  fair  face  of  nature,  and  my  views 

Of  men  and  things  enlightened  and  enlarged. 

Perhaps  M'Al lister  hath  rarely  vended 

Engines  more  friendly  to  the  eyes  and  noses 

Of  their  proprietors,  than  these  to  mine. 

But  though  where'er  I  turn  my  glassy  eyes, 

u  A  wide  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me," 

In  all  the  beauty  of  distinctness  drest ; 

And  though  I  have  discovered  that  the  shadows 

And  clouds,  that  heretofore  appeared  to  veil 

The  lovely  features  of  the  world  around  me, 

Existed  in  my  visual  orbs  alone, 

Yet  see  I  not  (just  now)  that  hence  it  follows, 

That  I  should  shout,  into  the  unwilling  ears 

Of  every  honest  man  I  meet,  the  notions 

Which  these  same  spectacles  have  brought  to  light : 

No — at  some  future,  more  convenient  season, 


198 


I  may  set  forth  these  matters ;  but  at  present 

It  would  be  carrying  (an  unthrifty  business) 

My  hen  to  market,  on  a  rainy  day. 

The  obstreperous  clamour  of  industrious  people. 

Who  manufacture  presidents  and  cotton, 

Hath  filled  the  public  ear  to  overflowing — 

The  wild  Ephesian  uproar  of  the  weavers 

Would  drown  the  tone  of  sweeter  harp  than  mine ; 

The  gentle  lisping  of  my  timid  muse 

Would  scarce  be  heard  amid  the  deafening  roar 

More  than  the  whisper  of  a  sucking  dove. 

They  say  I  am  short  sighted — and  perhaps 

I  may  not  see  so  far  into  the  moon 

As  some  whose  eyes  are  better,  yet  methinks 

These  weaving  brethren  are  as  blind  as  I  am, 

Else  would  they  long  ere  this  have  seen  and  studied 

The  ancient  history  of  the  dog  and  shadow. 

Yet  I  may  crack  a  wee  bit  of  some  things, 

And  though  the  worthy  items  that  compose 

That  mass  of  varied  excellence,  the  public, 

Are  all,  with  serious  singleness  of  heart 

And  fervency  of  purpose,  following  after 

Some  cherished  idol  of  their  own  creation, 

Some  fancied  present  or  eventual  good— 

Or,  to  discourse  in  less  inflated  language, 

Are  minding  their  own  business,  and  may  listen 

To  rny  observes  with  just  as  deep  attention 

As  the  deaf  adder  to  the  syren's  strain. 

It  mattereth  not — if  they  refuse  to  listen, 

The  loss  is  theirs — and  there  are  sundry  reasons, 


199 


Why  I  should  talk — attended  to,  or  not — 

As  first,  the  importunity  of  friends ; 

But  this  is  somewhat  stale,  and  on  the  whole 

Had  best  be  lightly  touched  on  ;  and  the  comfort 

That  overspreads  the  overcharged  mind, 

When  it  hath  been  disburthened,  is  no  trifle. 

Man  hath  in  general — say  minute  observers — 

Two  eyes,  two  ears,  and  but  a  single  tongue ; 

And  they  infer  from  this  apportionment 

Of  their  conveniences,  that  he  should  utter 

Not  more  than  half  of  what  he  sees  or  hears ; 

A  lame  and  impotent  conclusion,  this — 

And  far  less  satisfactory  than  the  following : 

That  every  man  may  utter,  if  it  likes  him, 

As  much  as  both  his  neighbour's  ears  can  swallow, 

Else  should  we  witness,  profitless  exposure, 

An  empty,  idle  superflux  of  ears ; 

And  this  is,  questionless,  the  sound  conclusion 

Adopted  in  our  legislative  halls, 

Where,  whatsoever  the  supply  of  wisdom, 

We  rarely  find  a  paucity  of  words, 

And  this  is  all  exactly  as  it  should  be. 

Go,  take  thine  ass,  and  hie  thee  on  from  Maine, 
And  tack  and  zigzag  well  through  every  corner, 
And  hill  and  dale  of  this  far  spreading  land, 
To  that  young  Babylon  they  call  Orleans, 
An'  speer  at  ilka  mon  ye  meet  withal, 
And  doubt  not  every  man  will  chuckling  own 
That  there  are  some  few  simple  folk  around  him. 


200 


Well,  be  it  so—these  simple  folk  have  rights. 

And  should  be  represented — and  they  are  so — 

So  that  whene'er  we  find  a  conscript  father. 

Smothering  beneath  an  awful  cloud  of  words, 

A  little  luckless  thimbleful  of  meaning, 

We  may  conclude  he  is  a  simple  member — 

That  is,  he's  one  who  represents  the  simple. 

I  say  that  we  are  wordy,  not  that  I  am ; 

We  as  a  people,  certainly  are  tonguey, 

(I  like  this  word,)  and  how  became  we  so  ? 

Because  we  have  been  blessed  with  tonguey  mothers. 

"  'Tis  education  forms  the  common  mind," 

Saith  Pope — and  early  education  does  so ; 

Much  of  whatever  makes  the  future  man, 

The  good  or  evil  that  attends  his  course, 

Is  early  gathered  in  maternal  arms. 

There,  with  the  love  of  freedom  and  of  country, 

By  precept  and  example  both  incited, 

The  infant  statesman  learns  the  love  of — noise ; 

Doomed,  from  his  earliest  moment,  to  the  infliction 

Of  ceaseless  dandling  and  eternal  song, 

And  when  tormented  with  incessant  din 

He  shakes  his  lacerated  ears,  and  screams, 

To  a  still  bolder  and  a  louder  key 

Is  swelled  the  nurse's  overwhelming  note. 

Oh  !  'tis  delightful,  this  domestic  music  ! 

This  mingled  sweetness  breathed  from  kindred  lips  ! 

The  wailing  urchin's  pertinacious  roar, 

And  Job-like  mother's  everlasting  song. 

Who  hath  not  listened  to-  the  enlivening  sound. 


201 


In  the  thronged  city,  or  secluded  dell  ? 
"Just  as  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree  's  inclined." 
('Tis  hard  to  part  a  couplet  long  united. 
So  having  used  the  first,  I  quote  this  line, 
Resolved  that,  whatsoe'er  may  chance  to  follow, 
The  ancient  pair  shall  rest  upon  one  sheet.) 
"  Just  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree  's  inclined," 
Saith  Pope — who  treateth  here  of  English  twigs, 
Twigs  of  John  Bull,  or  more  correctly,  calves. 
Now  if  this  holdeth  good  of  English  timber, 
Prom  the  cracked,  crooked,  and  valueless  condition 
Of  various  samples  cast  upon  our  shores, 
Blocks  that  lie  every  way,  we  may  conclude, 
The  art  and  mystery  of  judicious  twigging 
Is  little  understood,  or  practised,  there. 
Yes,  these  same  straggling  bulls,  and  callish  cattle, 
Incontinently  dropping  marvellous  matter, 
Which  tickleth  mightily  the  lengthy  ears 
Of  many  a  well-grown  kindred  calf  at  home. 
Yahooish,  scattering,  with  abortive  malice, 
Dust  at  a  people  far  beyond  their  reach  ; 
A  people  marching  with  a  giant's  stride, 
To  giant  empire — in  a  region,  born 
Of  grandeur  worthy  of  the  free  and  brave, 
Whose  lowliest  peasant  holds  in  equal  scorn 
The  throned  despot,  and  the  groveling  slave. 
Yet  notwithstanding  the  laborious  efforts 
Of  many  a  vile,  and  would-be  poisonous  insect 
With  noisome  buzz,  and  pointless  sting,  to  keep 
The  expiring  flame  of  enmity  alive ; 
26 


202 


And  maugre  all  his  multifarious  failings, 
Deficient  wisdom,  and  abounding  pride  ; 
I  would  be  neighbourly  with  ancient  John —  . 
He  hath  some  points  about  him  that  I  like  : 
Yes,  thou,  Old  England  !  art  a  glorious  land- 
Nurse  of  a  noble  race !  who  have  upheld 
The  torch  of  Freedom  in  a  darkened  world. 
Nurse  of  a  host  of  worthies,  now  no  more, 
But  whose  immortal  labours  shall  enlighten 
And  charm  the  minds  of  millions  yet  unborn  ! 
'Twas  from  thy  verdant  fields,  o'er  trackless  seas. 
That  gallant  band,  our  virtuous  fathers,  came. 
Yes,  we  are  kindred,  and  a  kindred  faith, 
And  kindred  laws  and  language,  should  induce  us 
To  form  a  league,  that  might  indeed  be  Holy, 
And  have  a  holy  influence  on  the  world. 
But  there's  a  time  for  all  things,  Solomon  said, 
And  Solomon  was  no  fool ;  although,  perhaps, 
Like  some  few  preachers  since  his  day,  his  practice 
Did  not  keep  pace  precisely  with  his  precept : 
For  Solomon  found,  if  chronicles  say  true, 
Time  to  do  much  which  might  have  been  omitted. 
There  is  a  time  for  all  things,  and,  of  course, 
A  time  for  dalliance  with  the  Aonian  maids, 
And  a  time,  too,  to  let  the  maids  alone. 
And  he  who  findeth  perched  upon  his  shoulders 
A  wrinkled  forehead,  clad  in  silver  hair, 
May  well  bethink  him  that  the  hour  hath  come 
When  he  should  muse  on  more  important  matter 
Than  the  construction  of  a  lay  like  this, 


203 


WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM. 

Reader,  go  home  ! — this  may  seem  homely  language, 

But  if  the  advice  is  good,  reject  it  not, 

Because  it  comes  not  in  more  courtly  guise. 

We  often  find  the  most  salubrious  draughts 

Are  not  the  most  delightful  to  the  palate ; 

And  my  advice  shall  have  at  least  one  merit, 

Not  over  common — that  of  brevity. 

Go  home  ! — if  idly  thou  hast  wandered  thence, 

Consider  well  what  motive  drew  thee  forth  ; 

And  whether,  if  with  due  attention  followed, 

The  path  of  duty  would  not  lead  thee  back : 

And  doubt  not  thou  may  meet  with  business  there, 

Remembering,  what  will  scarce  be  controverted, 

If  every  home  were  every  thing  it  should  bet 

There  would  be  little  to  be  done  abroad. 

Reader,  go  home  ! — go  home  to  thy  own  bosom ! 

Commune  with  thy  own  heart !  perhaps  a  stranger, 

Whose  nature  it  imports  thee  much  to  know, 

Where  haply  thou  may'st  more  or  less  discover 

To  do — undo — to  learn — and  to  forget ! 

And  in  that  all  important  field  of  labour, 

None  ever  yet  employed  himself  too  soon. 


204 

But  if  that  home  is  every  thing  it  should  be, — 
If  purity  and  peace  inhabit  there, 

Then  hope  to  feel,  when  on  thy  dying  bed, 
A  pitying  father's  soul-supporting  love, — 
Then  hope  to  find,  by  boundless  mercy  led, 
A  home  eternal,  in  the  realms  above. 


205 


"  But  one  thing  is  needful,  and  Mary  hath  chosen  that  good  part,  which 
shall  not  be  taken  away  from  her." — LTJKE  x.  42. 

One  thing  is  needful — man  can  never  hear 
This  truth  too  often — while  afforded  breath. 

And  life,  and  being — may  the  heaviest  ear 
Of  deafness  hear  it  till  destroyed  in  death. 

One  thing  is  needful — was  the  assurance  given 
By  Him  who  came  in  mercy  from  on  high, 

And  shall  man  slight  intelligence  from  Heaven — 
A  being,  sure  of  nothing,  but  to  die. 

One  thing  is  needful — how  will  those  appear, 
When  all  earth's  baubles  are  in  ruin  tost, 

Who  know  the  hour  of  final  judgment  near, 
This  prize  unsought  for,  or  for  ever  lost. 

One  thing  is  needful — and,  compared  with  this, 
All  earth  can  offer, — all  that  man  may  scheme, — 

All  human  fabrics  of  sublunar  bliss, — 

Are  vain,  and  worthless  as  an  idiot's  dream. 

One  thing  is  needful — all  that's  comprehended 

In  these  few  words — eternal  weal  or  wo, 
Soon,  when  some  short,  fast  fleeting  years  are  ended, 
_     In  joy  or  anguish,  every  soul  shall  know. 


206 


TO  J.  AND   H.  C.  B., 

ABOUT  TO  EMBARK  FOR  ENGLAND,  AFTER  A  RELIGIOUS 
VISIT  TO  THIS  COUNTRY. 

Ye  are  traveling  homeward, — home  imparts 
Joy  in  itself;  but  to  your  hearts 

A  purer  bliss  is  doubtless  known : 
The  peace  by  full  obedience  won — 
That  peace  which  flows  from  duty  done, 

And  from  that  source  alone. 

Remote  from  your  green  island  home, 
Your  lot  has  led  y^u  far  to  roam 

In  regions  rude,  and  wild,  and  vast, 
Where  many  a  fruitless  fig  tree  grows  ; 

Yet  here,  perhaps,  may  bloom  at  last, 
In  living  beauty,  Sharon's  rose. 

But  ye  're  bound  homeward — and  possess, 
No  doubt,  the  blessed  consciousness 

Of  having  done  what  in  you  lay 
To  work  His  will  who  sent  you  here — 
And  therefore  need  nought  else  to  cheer 

Your  progress  on  your  homeward  way. 


207 

Then,  fare  ye  well ! — may  He,  who  guides 
The  petrel  o'er  the  heaving  tides, 

Your  bark  securely  keep 
Safe  in  his  favour — though  the  storm 
May  rage  around,  and  winds  deform 

Your  pathway  on  the  deep. 


208 


«  Be  thou  my  strong  rock  for  an  house  of  defence  to  save  me  ;  for  thou 
art  my  rock  and  my  fortress." — PSALM  xxxi.  2,  3. 

«_A  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding  place  from  the  winds,  and  a  covert  from 
the  tempest— as  rivers  of  waters  in  a  dry  place — as  the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  weary  land." — ISAIAH  xxxii.  2. 

"  The  name  of  the  Lord  is  a  strong  tower ;  the  righteous  runneth  into 
it,  and  is  safe." — REV.  xviii.  10. 


To  living  waters  in  a  thirsty  sand — 

A  tower  of  strength  to  which  the  righteous  flee — 
A  rock's  vast  shadow  in  a  weary  land,— 

To  these  fond  man  hath  loved  to  liken  Thee, 
Fountain  of  light  and  life  ! — but,  oh  !  how  weak, 
How  feeble  language,  when  of  Thee  we  speak. 

Yet  Thou,  whom  highest  heaven  cannot  contain — 
Who  finest  all  things,  (oh,  consoling  trust !) 

Though  throned  in  blessedness,  wilt  not  disdain 
The  simple  offering  of  a  child  of  dust — 

The  broken  accents  of  adoring  love — 

When  the  full  heart  impels  the  tongue  to  move. 

A  strong  tower,  Thou  !  to  which  the  righteous  flee, 
And  find  that  safety  Thou  alone  canst  give  ; 

But,  Heavenly  Father  !  to  that  tower,  to  Thee, 
The  sorrowing  sinner,  too,  may  fly  and  live— 


209 

The  bruised  reed  that  healing  shadow  share, 
And  living  water  ever  flowing  there. 

When  the  transgressor,  who  had  wandered  far 
O'er  the  wild  waste,  the  land  of  sin  and  shame, 

Repentant  turned — did  aught  his  progress  bar 
To  that  dear,  holy  home  from  whence  he  came  ? 

Did  frowns  repelling  bid  the  wretch  depart  1 — 

Did  cold  endurance  chill  his  breaking  heart  ? 

Ah  !  no — while  yet  far  off  he  feebly  strove, 

With  tottering  steps,  to  take  his  homeward  way, 

The  observant  glances  of  paternal  love, 

With  smiles  of  welcome,  hailed  the  weak  essay — 

With  mercy  met  him,  and  his  soul's  alarms 

Were  all  forgotten  in  a  father's  arms. 

O  !  happy  he,  who,  in  that  awful  hour 

When  earth  must  vanish  from  his  closing  eye, 

Feels  full  assurance  of  that  love  whose  power 
For  the  freed  soul  can  happier  worlds  supply  i 

To  him,  resigned  to  all  thou  mayst  ordain, 

To  live  is  pleasure,  and  to  <Jie  is  gain. 

And  without  this,  can  aught  terrestrial  merit 
The  name  of  solace  for  the  immortal  mind? 

That  emanation  of  the  eternal  spirit, 

From  heaven  descended,  and  for  heaven  designed. 

What 's  man's  experience  but  corroding  care  ? — 

In  life  delusion,  and  in  death  despair? 
27 


210 


FLOWERS. 

"  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field." — MAT.  vi.  28. 

Ye  beauteous  things,  I  love  to  stray 
Among  ye  in  your  verdant  beds, 

And  see  ye  shake  the  dews  away, 
As  joyous  wave  your  brilliant  heads. 

I  call  ye  joyous— for  I  hold 

That  ye  are  joyous, — that  ye  feel 

Delight  in  living — that  the  mould 
Affords  ye  many  a  savoury  meal. 

The  voice  of  music  birds  employ 
To  speak  the  full  heart's  happiness, 

But,  in  your  case,  exuberant  joy 

Bursts  forth  perhaps  in  pomp  of  dress. 

Yes — clad  in  beauty's  liveliest  robe, 
To  every  eye  enjoyment  giving, 

And  scattering  fragrance  round  the  globe. 
Ye  doubtless  feel  delight  in  living. 


211 

'Twas  said  by  one*  that  ye  have  wasted, 
Unseen,  your  sweets  on  desert  air, 

Because,  alas  !  by  man  untasted — 

Though  bird,  beast,  insect,  might  be  there. 

O,  modest  and  profound  decision  ! 

That  man  alone  your  worth  observes  j 
As  though  nought  else  was  blest  with  vision, 

Or  system  of  olfactory  nerves. 

Pray,  how  knew  he  that  all  man  misses 

Is  wasted  on  the  desert  air? — 
Or,  that  the  bee-like  bird,  that  kisses 

The  blossom,  sees  no  beauty  there? 

But  there  's  no  desert — air  and  earth 
With  hum  of  sentient  being  rings  ; 
The  spot  that  gives  a  flowret  birth 

Is  quickly  fanned  by  insect  wings, 

» 

Yes,  beauteous  things,  I  love  to  stray 
Among  ye  in  your  verdant  bed — 

To  mark  your  Heaven-ordained  array, 
And  breathe  the  sweetness  round  ye  spread ; 


*  Gray's  Elegy  :— 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 


212 

And  oft,  among  ye  when  I  wander. 

Will  serious  thought  expand  her  wings, 

And,  taught  by  you,  my  spirit  ponder 
On  higher  and  on  holier  things. 

Proofs  of  our  Heavenly  Father's  love, 
Who  clad  ye  in  a  garb  so  fair  ; 

Ye  bid  me  hope  I  too  may  prove 
An  object  of  his  guardian  care — 

Ye  bid  me  hope  that  He  who  wrought 
Such  glorious  robes  for  fading  grass, 

Will  not  cast  off,  if  humbly  sought, 
His  creature  of  a  nobler  class. 

And  as  at  spring's  awakening  breath 
Ye  glow  in  new-born  radiant  dyes, 

So  from  the  wintry  sleep  of  death 
Ye  bid  me  hope  that  I  may  rise. 


213 


LOCOMOTIVES. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  away  we  go 

Without  a  spur  or  goad — 
Our  iron  coursers  snort  and  blow 

Along  an  iron  road. 

Your  noblest  steeds  of  flesh  and  blood 
Are  soon  with  toil  o'erdone, 

But  wheels  impelled  by  fire  and  flood 
For  ever  may  roll  on. 

No  load,  nor  length  of  way,  fatigues 
Our  wild,  unslumbering  team ; 

A  jaunt  of  a  hundred  thousand  leagues 
Is  baby  play  for  steam. 

The  hills  may  lift  their  foreheads  high, 
The  rivers  oppose  in  vain — 

Our  smoky  motives  soon  shall  fly 
From  Mexico  to  Maine. 

Then  farewell  to  domestic  jars, 
All  nullying  nonsense  done — 

An  endless  chain  of  railroad  cars 
Will  bind  us  all  in  one. 


214 

The  goodly  dames  of  former  days 
Were  doomed  at  home  to  stay, 

Or  jog  o'er  dislocating  ways 
A  dozen  miles  a  day. 

Affairs  of  moment  only  led 
Their  steps  of  course  to  roam, 

And  comfort  too,  was  born  and  bred, 
They  might  suppose,  at  home. 

But  now  a  feather  has  force  enough 

To  send  our  damsels  forth, 
For  a  yard  of  bobbin,  or  thimble  of  snuff, 

To  the  east,  west,  south  or  north. 

We  all  are  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

Aye  worrying  here  and  there, 
But  where  we  go,  or  why  we  go, 

We  hardly  know  or  care. 

The  western  ploughboy  hastes  to  hear 

Atlantic  billows  roar — 
And  yankee  sailors  try  to  steer 

The  Pawnee  prairies  o'er. 

The  southron  sweep  comes  in  from  work, 
"  Where  's  Mrs.  Soot  ?"  says  he— 

"  She  's  gone  for  a  moment  to  New  York, 
But  will  be  home  to  tea." 


215 

"  O  well,"  says  Darky,  "  then  I'll  go, 
As  the  cars  are  whirling  by — 

For  a  mouthful  of  Boston  air  or  so, 
And  a  bite  of  pumpkin  pie." 

Could  our  forefathers  quit  their  shrouds, 
How  would  the  good  folks  stare, 

To  see  their  sons,  in  countless  crowds, 
Driven  on  by  heated  air. 

To  see  the  stately  steamboat  glide, 

Encumbered  by  no  sail ; 
Regardless  of  the  opposing  tide, 

The  fair  or  adverse  gale. 

Yet  boast  we  not — the  power  of  mind, 

Must  onward,  onward,  go, 
Our  sons  will  stare  in  turn  to  find 

How  little  is  all  we  know. 

But  off! — hurrah  !  away  we  rattle, 
On  the  wings  of  the  red-hot  wind, 

And  scare  the  fish,  and  kill  the  cattle, 
And  leave  all  care  behind. 


216 


SCRAPS  FROM  MY  PORT  FOLIO. 

Thomson's  Hymn,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  poem  of  the 
Seasons,  is  a  popular  production,  much  read  by  the  young, 
and  familiar  to  most  readers.  It  was  formerly  a  favourite 
with  me,  but  of  late,  has  not  pleased  me  so  well ;  much  of 
it  I  think  might  have  been  advantageously  omitted,  and 
for  aught  that  appears,  it  might  have  been  written  before 
the  Christian  dispensation  had  been  heard  of;  and  although 
this  is  a  subject  of  too  sacred  and  awful  a  nature,  perhaps, 
to  be  much  dwelt  upon  in  a  poetical  way,  yet  in  a  work 
professing  to  celebrate  the  goodness  of  the  Divine  Being, 
to  omit  all  allusion  to  the  most  signal  instance  thereof 
seems  rather  amiss.  The  following  lines  were  occasioned 
by  a  late  perusal  of  it. 

But  can  I  muse  in  silence  ?  Can  a  being 
Though  fallen,  and  unworthy,  and  encompassed 
With  evil,  self-induced,  but  yet  the  object, 
Almighty  Father !  of  thy  care  and  love, 
Endowed  by  thee  with  a  reflecting  mind, 
And  power  to  utter  what  that  mind  conceives — 
Can  he  muse  on  thy  goodness,  and  be  mute  ? 

Though  glorious  thy  creation — this  fair  world, 
And  countless  worlds  around,  arrayed  in  beauty, 


217 


Harmoniously  their  several  tracks  pursuing 

Through  regions  of  unmeasured  space,  evincing 

Infinite  wisdom  and  Almighty  power  ; 

So  great  and  glorious  all !  that  well  might  David,      * 

When  pondering  their  immensity,  and  feeling 

The  utter  nothingness  of  man,  exclaim, 

Lord  !  what  is  he,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him ; 

The  son  of  man,  that  thou  shouldst  visit  him  ? 

And  though  thy  throne,  high  o'er  the  heaven  of  heavens, 

In  glory  inconceivable,  be  placed, 

Yet  art  thou  mindful  of  the  poor  in  spirit — 

The  contrite  one  that  trembleth  at  thy  word. 

And  these  stupendous  monuments  of  power, 
Walking  in  brightness,  shall  decay  and  vanish  ; 
For  matter,  howsoe'er  sublime  in  form, 
Must  yield  obedience  to  the  laws  of  nature, 
By  thee  ordained,  and  be  dissolved  and  perish. 

Not  so  the  spirit  thou  hast  breathed  in  man  ! 
The  undying  principle  of  life — the  power 
Through  endless  ages  to  enjoy  or  suffer 
The  immortality  which  thou  hast  given — 
Is  of  more  value  than  a  thousand  worlds ; 
Yea,  infinitely  precious  in  thy  sight ! 
So  infinitely  precious  as  to  lead  thee, 
Even  Thee,  the  Eternal  One  !  from  realms  of  light, 
To  assume  the  nature  of  thy  poor,  lost  creature  ; 
Descend  to  walk  on  earth — a  man  of  sorrows— 
28 


218 

And  die,  to  rescue  from  eternal  ruin 

The  guilty  hopeless  being  thou  hadst  made. 

*  Yes,  I  must  muse  in  silence  ; — vain  are  words  : 
There  is  no  power  in  language  to  express 
The  deep  emotion  of  the  adoring  spirit, 
When  contemplating  such  unbounded  love  ! 


219 


[The  following  fragment — apparently  the  commencement  of  a  subject  to 
be  filled  up — was  found  in  the  pocket-book  of  the  author  after  his  decease, 
and  is  believed  to  be  the  last  he  ever  wrote.] 

A  friendless  stranger  on  the  bleak  world  thrown, 
Has  stern  misfortune  marked  thee  for  her  own, 
Has  falsehood  fixed  dishonour  on  thy  name, 
Does  hopeless  anguish  rack  thy  wasted  frame, 
Has  Death's  dark  angel  his  sad  visit  paid, 
Has  thy  heart's  treasure  low  in  earth  been  laid ; 
Ah !  then  how  drear  the  cheerless  world  appears — 
A  desert  shrouded  in  a  mist  of  tears  ; — 
Then,  hapless  mourner,  will  thy  soul  incline 
To  wish  the  pinions  of  the  dove  were  thine, 
To  wing  thy  way  to  some  far  distant  shore, 
Where  sin  and  sorrow  shall  disturb  no  more. 


221 


LINES 

SUGGESTED  BY  A  RECENT  VISIT  TO 

Fair  home  of  my  fathers  ! — in  seasons  long  past. 

Generations  successive  have  tilled ; 
Their  honoured  remembrance  a  halo  has  cast 

Round  the  garden,  the  grove,  and  the  field. 

Yet  fond  recollection  retraces  the  hours 

When  the  swing  and  the  ride  could  delight- 
When  the  delicate  cream,  and  the  fruits,  and  the  flowers, 
And  the  arbours,  and  walks,  could  invite. 

Here  opened  the  record  on  history's  page, 

Which  the  annals  of  Jersey  supplied  ; 
Here  the  patriot  enlightened,  the  statesman,  and  sage, 

And  the  muses,  have  loved  to  reside. 

Majestic  the  hickories  yet  may  remain, 
To  mark  the  long  years  they  have  stood, 

The  loveliest  verdure  embellish  the  plain, 
And  autumn's  bright  colours  the  wood; 


222 

The  maple  may  blossom,  the  willow  wave  still, 
And  the  locust  breathe  out  its  perfume — 

The  robin  the  grove  may  with  melody  fill, 
And  the  garden  in  beauty  may  bloom ; 

But  never  again  shall  the  rill  or  the  lawn 

Its  charm  to  the  landscape  restore — 
O'er  the  loved  and  lamented  Earth's  mantle  is  drawn, 

And  their  places  shall  know  them  no  more. 

Fair  home  of  my  fathers  !  for  ever  adieu, 

The  scenes,  as  in  youth,  that  I  love ; 
Inscribed  on  my  heart  be  the  changes  I  view 

In  the  history  of  Hickory  Grove. 


THE    END. 


THIS   BOOK   IS  DUE  ON   THE   LAST  DATE 
STAMPED   BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-35w-7,'62(D296s4)458 


Smith,  S.J. 

Miscellaneous  writings 

•»      ii 1  «  4-  /~v     Q  Q-rrmol 


Call  Number: 

PS287U 
SU 


^63595 


